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NORMA LANE 


BY S. N. COOK 


Snowbird 

Lost 

Hagar 

At the Turn of the Lane 





NORMA 







Norma Lane 

The Daughter of an Elk 

BY 

SAMUEL NEWTON COOK 



Columbus, Ohio 
Wayne-Cook Publishing Co. 
1909 



3 ^ 


Copyright 1909, by 
S. N. Cook 
All rights reserved 


The Pfeifer Press 
Columbus, O. 
1909 


Cl. A i ^ T 

SEP 4 1909 


To the members of Columbus 
Lodge No. 37, B. P, 0. E, this 
volume is inscribed. 


—The Author 




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• ♦ 


Norma Lane 


CHAPTER ONE. 

AKE CITY has over 50,000 inhabitants. Its manu- 
facturing interests are prosperous. Labor and 
Capital has worked for years without clash, and 
consequently, the Capital of Mohican County is 
a City of homes. A year previous to the events 
to be narrated here, the City met with a loss. A man beloved 
by those who knew him, a man at the head of one of the 
largest manufacturing establishments had passed into the 
silence and the unknown. He had repeatedly been elected 
Mayor of the City, until he refused absolutely to run again, 
as his business interests and his failing health would not per- 
mit him to serve the people who so willingly and enthusi- 
astically sought to honor him. When the hour finally came 
that Henry S. Lane was to be laid in the beautiful City of the 
Dead, beside the wife who had fallen asleep some ten years 
before, great mills shut down for a half day, the stores were 
closed and Lake City paused to wipe unshamed tears, because 
a man who lived not for himself alone was going away from 
them forever. 

There were left to mourn him two daughters, Norma, a 
girl some 19 years of age, and Marion, a fair little human 
flower who was 16. Henry Lane left all his property to his 
daughters with the stipulation that his well loved and trusted 



7 



8 


NORMA LANE, 


friend, Wilberton Vance, should control the estate until his 
youngest daughter was of age. Even though Norma should 
marry, the modest fortune should not be broken. 

Lake City had long been planning for an Interurban Rail- 
way, and the time was near at hand when the City and the 
many villages lying to the East and South should realize their 
ambitions. 

It was Wilberton Vance who was asked to lead in the 
enterprise. Vance was considered the richest man in Lake 
City. Perhaps there were others quite as well to do, but none 
were so free with their means where the public would be the 
beneficiary. 

It was Vance who subscribed to the stock book first, and 
it was he who withdrew large amounts from paying invest- 
ments to make the Lake City and South Eastern a possibility. 

It was Wilberton Vance who secured the right of way and 
who, when it became known that the greater part of his for- 
tune was invested in the enterprise, induced the farmers along 
the line of the proposed route to take stock. 

Lake City was a fine market, and it needed but little per- 
suasion to enlist the owners of rich farms in the project. 

There was no steam road within many miles of the Inter- 
urban route and dull was he who could not see how much 
advantage the road would be to each one living on or near the 
line. 

It was not only convenient for passengers to reach the 
city, but as a local freight route it promised wonders. Thus 
it was that persons interested in the road were content and 
happy; thus it was that no cloud was seen in the financial 
sky of Lake City, no sign of disaster to the Lake City & 
South Eastern Interurban Line until Dr. Harley called at 
Vance’s office quite early one June morning. 

The doctor had no stock in the road, but he considered 
that his misfortune. Not even Wilberton Vance was more 


NORMA LANE 


9 


enthusiastic over the possibilities of the enterprise. Then, 
the route was through his old home town — Eden. 

The city folk were wont to exclaim: “What a sleepy 
little village,” but sleepy or not there was peace and content 
there. No one was rich, no one was poor. The sting of pov- 
erty was never felt in the village of Eden. 

The doctor had accompanied Mr. Vance when that enter- 
prising gentleman visited Eden and the farmers thereabouts, 
and as everyone knew the doctor — for years the village 
oracle — he held the attention of his old friends and neigh- 
bors when he said: “Gentlemen, Mr. Vance is here to offer 
you gold dollars for dimes.” 

It was only in Lake City that he was known as Dr. Har- 
ley. In Eden it was Dr. John, and Dr. John grew poorer with 
the years. While the good people of the village were able 
to pay for his services, he rarely presented a bill. So long 
as he made a living he could not bring himself to present a 
bill, until after he left the village and opened an office in the 
city. 

He had been induced by an impecunious and plausible 
friend to purchase a worthless tract of land in an adjoining 
State. The only crop that seemed to be certain was the 
taxes, and these he neglected for a time until he received 
notice that his land was about to be sold that the County 
should have its “pound of flesh.” 

Incidentally the doctor mentioned the fact to Wilberton 
Vance. “Let me see your deed,” said that gentleman; and 
when the document was examined, Vance urged him to pay 
the taxes, and not sacrifice the place he had paid for, and 
which he could ill afford to purchase and, perhaps, as illy 
afford to lose. 

“Really, Mr. Vance, I have no money to spare just now. 
If I could collect half that is owing me I could do it easily, 
but it is hard work getting money now.” 


10 


NORMA LANE, 


“By the way, Doctor, I do not recollect that you pre- 
sented your bill for attendance upon Marion Lane, during her 
long illness. You was with the child night and day.” 

“Friend Vance, did you ever do anything in your life just 
because you wanted to, and never dreamed of getting money 
for doing it?” 

“I have, doubtless, but this is different. Henry S. Lane 
left considerable for his children. All that he had he placed 
in my hands. That, doctor, is the most sacred trust that has 
ever come to me. All his life he was my friend, and when he 
died he gave his girls into my keeping.” 

“I know, — I was there, — I was at the bedside,” the doctor 
replied. 

“I remember now, you was there. Perhaps, you knew him 
well enough to know that he would want that just bill paid. If 
you knew him as I knew him, you would realize, that if he 
could communicate with me he would say: ‘Vance, my friend 
and brother, is all the property I left my daughters exhausted 
that little Marion’s doctor bills should go unpaid? Why should 
my daughter appear in the light of a pauper?’ ” 

“How would anybody know it unless we told it? Vance, 
you’ve been my friend, you are my friend, or by God, man 
I wouldn’t sit here and swallow that when I want to make the 
air blue — sulphurously blue — at the very thought of pre- 
senting a bill. When I nursed her back to life, with her sweet 
smile, a smile of infinite trust — I was paid, Vance — doubly 
paid.” 

“No, you were not. Your generous heart may say so, but 
we cannot let it go at that. I know you did more than any 
other physician could have done to save the life of that girl. 
You did it and you should be paid for it. Seriously, doctor, 
make out your bill and I’ll pay you.” 

The angry light flashing from the keen gray eyes died 
away, and the tears came instead. 


NORMA LANE 


11 


“All right,” he said softly; “all right, Vance, let me sit 
at your desk a moment and I’ll make it out.” 

Vance was puzzled over the bill the doctor handed him a 
few moments later, and coldly asked : 

“What do you mean, doctor?” 

“Just what it says there.” 

“For six weeks’ attendance upon Marion Lane,” read 
Vance, “three hundred dollars. Rec’d payment before she was 
bom. Paid in full. “Jno. P. Harley.” 

There was a deep, red scar upon the Doctor’s left cheek, 
and this scar became almost purple when he was excited or 
angry. Wilberton Vance had heard of the sign of the purple 
— as some called it — others knew it as the danger signal. 

“Tell me about it,” and Vance’s voice was all tenderness. 

“Did you ever talk to Lane about his father?” 

“I believe he scarcely knew his father. He was killed in 
the war, as I recollect.” 

“You are right.” 

“Gettysburg, was it not?” 

“No, I got this beauty spot at Gettysburg. He got his 
honorable discharge at Cold Harbor. If angels ever had any 
business on a battlefield they were needed to escort the soul 
of Elisha Lane, straight up to the Courts of Light.” 

“You knew him then?” 

“He was my Captain; I was his orderly Sergeant.” 

“I begin to understand.” 

“No, you will never understand. You may think you do, 
but you can’t. You never fell from your horse, as the blood 
spurted in a hot, red stream from what you thought a death 
wound. I remember it as though it was but yesterday. I had 
said to myself: ‘Well, John, this is the end; Mother is gone, 
and there is no one to fret. What more should a soldier hope 
for than to die on the field of battle.’ I could hear the shouts 


12 


NORMA LANE, 


of the enemy. They were coming, and I expected their 
horses to trample me into the earth. Then I heard a voice 
that I knew, saying: ‘John, are you living — are you much 
hurt?’ 

“ ‘I guess I ain’t quite done for yet. Captain,’ I answered 
as best I could. 

“Then that man dismounted, gathered me up in his arms, 
put me on his horse, and held me while he rode like hell, 
and the enemy all about us, crying: ‘Surrender, Surrender, 
Surrender.’ 

“That was the grandfather of the little girl I pulled 
through that sickness. Say, Vance, you’ve got good red 
blood in you, would you have me render the bill differently?” 

“Doctor,” there was reverence in voice and look, “Doctor 
Harley, I have sat by and heard men utter alleged funny 
remarks about that scar of yours, but they won’t do it any 
more. That is all — they won’t do it any more in my pres- 
ence.” 

“Vance, you would make a devil of a fine Colonel of 
Cavalry if there was such a war now as there was then; but 
there can never be such a war again.” 

Vance had seen the battle light in those gray eyes, but 
the mist was flooding them now. 

All this happened some months before the morning Doc- 
tor Harley called at Vance’s office with news concerning 
Cyrus Flood. The doctor had visited a country patient who 
lived upon the proposed trolley line. Abraham Thomas was 
one of the stockholders of the road and he had given the 
right of way through his farm. One of his children was ill 
and the doctor had been sent for. The physician who min- 
isters to country folk rarely writes prescriptions. He has his 
modest little drug store with him and gives careful direc- 
tions how the medicine should be taken. 


NORMA LANE 


13 


It was the doctor’s custom to leave the family most hope- 
ful, unless the case was very serious, and so on this occasion 
the anxious parents were smiling when he turned from the 
bed where the sufferer lay, for he had promised that the boy 
would soon be helping his father on the farm. “When the 
wheat is ready to cut Tom will be right there in the field the 
best man on the job.” 

The farmer followed the doctor to the gate, and each 
paused a moment when Thomas said : “Doctor, have you 
heard that there is trouble brewing for our new road?” 

“I never heard of it. I saw Vance a day or two ago and 
he was never more enthusiastic. He said they were almost 
ready for the rails. Next week they begin placing the poles 
for the wires.” 

“I’ve been told that Vance is about at the end of his 
string, and that he can’t git the money to complete the road,” 
persisted Thomas. 

“Abe,” began the doctor impressively, “you are a Chris- 
tian and believe the Bible?” 

“Certainly.” 

“You have heard that Ananias and Sapphira are both dead 
— stone dead, years ago?” 

“Certainly.” 

“Well, how did they get back? Of course, there have 
been a number of able liars since, and you surely found one 
of them. Tell me, what did you hear?” 

“There was a man here the other day. Doc John, a spruce 
lookin’ chap. I was settin’ on the porch along in the after- 
noon, and this fellow druv up an’ sez to me, sez he, Ts this 
Mr. Abraham Thomas?’ I reckoned it was, and sez he, T 
want to talk to you a bit.’ ‘Won’t you come in?’ sez I, and 
he hitched an’ come in. Then he told me that his name was 
Flood, and that he lived in New York, and that he repre- 
sented a company that was intending to furnish certain equip- 


14 


NORMA LANE, 


ments, or something of that kind, but when he got here he 
found things mighty shaky.” 

“Oh, he did, did he?” snapped the doctor; “one don’t 
often find those New York people so accommodating. It was 
surely good of him to hire a livery rig and come away out 
here to tell you to be careful of a man you have known for 
years — a man as square as the Good Lord ever makes them 
— and who has his own fortune in this road.” 

“He said he learned I was a stockholder, and that I had 
better look out.” 

“He did, did he? I wish I had been here.” 

“I’m sort of glad you wasn’t. Doc, because when you git 
started you swear mightily. Something started you one day 
out here an’ little Sara Ann must a heard you. She was out 
under the cherry tree, a tryin’ to make her doll stand on 
its head. I thought at first that the little one was prayin’ ’till 
I got up close to her, an’ then I knowed she had heard you 
when you was warmed up over something.” 

“What did you do then, Abe?” 

“I cut an apple switch right there.” 

“Never do it again, Abe. If your young one ever swears 
because she heard me, come to town with your apple sprout 
and wear it out on me — that is, if you tell me first what the 
child said. You see I know my swear words when I meet 
them, an’ I wouldn’t stand hitched for some other fellow’s 
language. I’m trying to break myself of swearing — it’s a 
mean habit. I never was with the army in Flanders, like 
‘Uncle Toby,’ but I was in the army off there in Virginia, and 
they surely cussed a few there occasionally.” 

“I s’pose they did. I knowed your folks pretty well. Doc 
John, but I don’t recall as I remember your Uncle Toby.” 

“No, he did not live around here,” and the doctor drove 
away chuckling to himself. Abraham Thomas had never 
heard of “Tristram Shandy.” 


CHAPTER TWO. 


HE building in which Wilberton Vance had his 
office had once been a family residence, in fact it 
was the old Vance home, as it was known, but it 
was down town surrounded by business establish- 
ments. When Mr. Vance moved into his new 
residence, “Vance Villa,” as his daughter Jean was pleased 
to call it, he turned the spacious dwelling into an office build- 
ing. 

From the South windows was a charming view of lake, 
farm and woodland. The Casino on the lake shore was with- 
in view also. When the new road should be completed they 
who sat by these windows could see the car sweep around 
the curve of the lake until lost to sight behind towering hills. 
There was also a lawn carefully kept, where a half hundred 
rose bushes bloomed throughout the summer. 

Amid such surroundings it was not strange that every 
available room was quickly secured by gentlemen willing to 
pay liberally for offices where odors of summer blooms were 
wafted by the soft South winds. 

It was not strange, either, that Jean, Wilberton Vance’s 
only daughter, found it pleasant to visit her father’s splen- 
didly equipped offices. It was quite natural, too, that Harold 
Brady, a dashing young fellow, the main stay of the Evening 
Telegram, should seek numerous interviews with Wilberton 
Vance, concerning that most interesting theme, the Interurban 
Railway. 

The careful observer, however, might have noted that 
these professional calls were so timed — at least never 

15 



16 NORMA LANE, 

omitted — when Jean had an hour or two to spend in her 
father’s office. 

Much as he dreaded her sarcasm, and stinging retorts, 
Brady never failed to be with her when possible. Once when 
describing a social event, Harold alluded to Jean Vance as a 
“Daughter of the Gods.” She was inclined to smile at her 
friend’s effusiveness until Emily Blain, a young woman Jean 
always considered “perfectly horrid,” asked her with most 
gracious sarcasm how the “Gods” were getting along, and 
whether ordinary mortals were expected to speak to her as 
she passed by. When next Jean and Harold met, the occasion 
was particularly interesting to Mr. Brady. The stage setting 
of this comedy was in Vance’s office. 

“Good morning. Miss Vance,” said Harold breezily. There 
was no reply. The young woman stared at him as if he was 
an inanimate object that excited her curiosity. A dash of 
red swept over his face as he repeated: “Good morning. Miss 
Vance.” 

“Papa,” she said, “this young person is a Mr. Brady, a 
newspaper reporter.” 

“What does all this mean, daughter? I’m sure I know Mr. 
Brady very well, not only as a newspaper man, but as the 
Esquire of our lodge.” 

A ghost of a smile flitted about the lips of the father, for 
he knew that this fair, wilful, and unusually handsome girl 
was punishing her devoted admirer for some cause. 

“I did not suppose,” she remarked with lofty disdain, 
“that a common reporter on a most common place newspaper, 
was permitted to associate with one of the Immortal Gods.” 

“If you and Harold have any quarreling to do, kindly 
retire to the lawn among the roses and fight it out. I’m busy,” 
replied Vance. 

“Is there anything new this morning, Mr. Vance?” asked 
the reporter. 


NORMA LANE 


17 


“Nothing worth while this morning.” 

Jean had turned her back upon them, pretending she did 
not care that there was such a person as Harold Brady on 
earth. 

“What has happened?” the young man asked. His manner 
was rather sharp and commanding. 

“I wish you to understand, Mr. Brady, that I am the 
daughter of Wilberton Vance. I am quite content to be his 
daughter, and if that powerful engine for the dissemination 
of patent medicine advertisements, the Evening Telegram, 
has occasion to mention my name again, I prefer it should 
be as the daughter of a gentleman.” 

“What in the world is ‘biting’ you, Jean?” 

“ ‘Biting me’ — an elegant expression, Mr. Brady.” 

“I beg your pardon. Miss Vance.” 

“A clod” — she was about to say a clodhopper would 
have a better manner of expressing himself, but Brady inter- 
rupted : “ ‘A clod — the sluggish clod the rude swain turns 
with his share and treads upon.’ ” 

“Mr. Brady,” Jean replied severely, “you have about as 
much good, steady common sense as a moth — a poor, white 
fluttering moth.” 

“I am all that,” he answered tragically, ‘a moth that bums 
its life out in the great white light — you are the light — 
behold, the ‘moth and the flame.’ ” 

“Oh! you simpleton. I think you would dread to meet the 
Probate Judge for fear he would send you to the Lunatic ” 

“You have no license to speak of Probate Judges,” he 
broke in. 

She paused a moment to grasp his meaning and then with 
a half hysterical laugh exclaimed: 

“Oh, you indescribable idiot.” Then turning to Marion 
Lane, whose fingers were flying over the keys of the type- 
writer, asked: “Marion, did you notice that gray waist Mrs. 


18 


NORMA LANE 


Moler wore yesterday at Church? It seemed as if she was 
poured into it.” 

“Before Marion could reply Brady interrupted: “It re- 
minded me of the Atlantic.” 

“Will you subside? You don’t know what you are talking 
about.” 

“I do,” he answered with great earnestness: “‘And 
poured round all 

“ ‘Old Ocean’s gray and melancholy waste ’ ” 

Then he executed a masterly and sudden retreat from 
the office while Vance laughed heartily. 

“I wouldn’t laugh at that foolish fellow, papa” — but she 
did, and going to the door her eyes followed him far down 
the street. 

It was on the fifteenth of June, one week later, that Wilber- 
ton Vance first met Cyrus Flood. It was the next day after 
Doctor Harley had the talk with the farmer as mentioned in 
the preceding chapter. Margery Patton, the scrub woman, 
was usually the first to arrive and put the office in order, but 
this morning Jimmie Rimple, the office boy, came with the 
mail before the doors were unlocked. 

“Where is that Margery this morning?” It mattered not 
that there was no one to answer, and Jimmie seated himself 
upon the top step of the short flight that led from the flag- 
stone pavement and proceeded to look over the mail. “Ah! 
here is one for Miss Jean from Darby Center. Where the 
thunder is Darby Center? I suppose it’s none of my business, 
though.” 

Jimmie was so interested in examining the post marks 
that he did not observe that Margery Patton was waiting to 
unlock the door and that he was in her way. 

“I ’spose you got your own mail sorted out by this time.” 

Margery’s voice was hoarse and her nose more lurid than 
usual, which was an unfailing sign that she had one of 


NORMA LANE 


19 


“them breakin’ down spells,” as she put it. Some of Mar- 
gery’s neighbors were unkind enough to say that the scrub 
woman had taken an overdose of her remedy for such spells. 
She found it more convenient to have her prescriptions filled 
at O’Brian’s Cafe, as the proprietor was pleased to name his 
saloon, than at the drug store near by. 

“Where have you been this forenoon, Margery?” 

“None of your business. When did you get to be the 
boss?” Margery’s hand was a bit unsteady as she fumbled 
with the key. 

“When I do get to be boss,” and Jimmie’s manner was 
quite severe, “I’ll bet you will arrive on time.” 

Jimmie placed the letters on Mr. Vance’s desk and seated 
himself at the machine, idly drumming upon the keys. 

“Why don’t you git around here and do something your- 
self, you lazy thing,” said Margery. “At least you could open 
the windows.” 

“I don’t draw a salary for doing woman’s work.” 

“Oh, you don’t, hey? I ’spose if you didn’t draw a salary 
for a couple weeks they’d notice it in the banks. I hear they 
have panics in Wall Street, New York, an’ like enough it’s 
’cause you fail to git your salary in circulation quick enough.” 

Then Margery sat down to laugh at Jimmie’s discomfiture. 
She had touched a sore spot. Jimmie received $1.50 per 
week, and as he had arranged — in his mind — to marry 
Marion Lane, he realized that this was a beggarly sum to 
begin housekeeping upon. Jimmie was 11 and Marion 16, 
and naturally the stenographer regarded Jimmie as a little 
boy. 

The lad was speechless for a few moments after Mar- 
gery’s thrust, but remembering some lines Harold Brady 
extemporized one day, he began to sing: 

“Margery, Margery, scrub away. 

What you don’t do now, you’ll do some day.” 


20 


NORMA LANE 


This started the scrub woman from her chair and taking 
after the boy with the broom, chased him about the office. 

As Jimmie dodged behind the desks to escape the broom, 
Marion Lane appeared, and pausing at the door a moment 
became mistress of the situation at once when she announced 
what would happen when she told Neil about the affair. 

Marion had left some work unfinished the night before 
and came early that she might complete it before Mr. Vance’s 
arrival. The type-machine was clicking merrily and Jimmie 
stood close beside her, putting his arm about her affection- 
ately. 

“Look at that fool boy,” Margery muttered. “Break 
away there,” she cried. 

Jimmie jumped as if some one had shot at him, and tak- 
ing a worn base ball from his pocket, threw it viciously at 
the scrub woman. When Jimmie was a baby his fond mother 
was wont to sing to him: 

“Jimmie Rimple 
Has a dimple 
In his little chin — ” 

Some of the lad’s schoolmates, recalling the mother song, 
made life a burden by repeating the lines. Margery had 
managed to dodge the ball, and while Jimmie was looking for 
it, began to croon wierdly: 

“Jimmie Rimple 
Has a dimple 
In his little chin — ” 

“You old poll parrot,” shrieked the boy, taking after 
her, “I’ll murder you.” 

“Here, what does this mean?” The confusion subsided 
at once. The new arrival was Neil Dare, Mr. Vance’s confi- 
dential man, whose word was law in the office when Vance 
was absent. 


NORMA LANE 


21 


“Margery, finish your work; you should have had it done 
long before this,” said Neil as he took his seat at the desk. 
Presently Marion joined him. “I want to ask you, Neil, if 
ladies are ever permitted to attend your social sessions? I 
understand you are to have a session or supper or something 
tomorrow evening and Norma and I wish to bring something, 
even if we stay but a few minutes.” 

“It was intended as a stag affair,” Neil replied, “but 
we’ll see Mr. Vance and arrange the matter all right, I 
imagine. Brady and I are on the Committee — but what is 
up with you girls?” 

“We have a little surprise for you.” Just then the voice 
of the doctor was heard outside, crying: “Git out, you con- 
demned, ugly mouthed dog.” 

Very gently Marion said: “Neil, go and get Teddy;’ he 
might bite the doctor, you know.” 

Neil soon had his English bull terrier by the collar, and 
he and the doctor came in arm in arm. 

“I’m sometimes tempted to kill that son — of perdition,” 
said the doctor as he glanced about and saw Marion at her 
writing desk. 

Doubtless the quick nudge Neil gave him was efficatious. 

“You come purty near swearin’, didn’t you. Doc?” asked 
Margery drowsily. 

Marion frowned, and Neil turned upon the woman angrily: 
“Margery, have you finished dusting?” 

“Yes, why?” 

“You may go, if you are through.” 

The woman slowly arose, getting her broom and dust pan, 
and pausing a moment near the street door, returned and 
dropped listlessly into an office chair. 

“I want to see Mr. Vance this morning,” said the doctor, 
“and I’ve something to say to you when we are alone.” 

“You may go for the mail, Jim,” said Neil, sharply. 


22 


NORMA LANE 


“I brought the mail,” the lad replied. 

“So you have — then see if you can find Mr. Vance. Tell 
him he is wanted.” 

“Where will I look for him?” 

“If 1 knew I wouldn’t tell you to go and find him.” 

Jimmie preferred to remain. He, boy like, was desirous 
of hearing what the doctor might have to say. The same was 
true of Margery. Neil observed that she was yet in the 
office, not even making a pretense of work. 

“You may go, Margery,” he said, quietly. 

“Much obliged.” 

“Don’t let me have to ask you again.” 

“You have no feelin’ for a poor workin’ woman at all — 
I don’t care if I never come back.” 

Jimmie returned long enough to sing a line or two of the 
rag time melody: “I don’t care if you never came back.” 

Jimmie’s melody was mingled with Margery’s brief reci- 
tation: “Jimmie Rimple, had a dimple, etc.” 

“I was about to say, Neil,” began the doctor when Marion 
came forward with the smile that the doctor felt was indescrib- 
able and said: “Excuse me, gentlemen, but may I go home 
for a little while? I wish to tell Norma what you said about 
tomorrow evening.” 

“Certainly you may go, but I do not know how soon Mr. 
Vance may need you,” Neil replied. 

“I shall not be long gone,” and the eyes of the man who 
had fought death for weeks and triumphed followed her 
until she was out of sight. Then he turned to the young 
man, saying: “Do you know, Neil, that there is a stranger 
in the City by the name of Flood who has been paying con- 
siderable attention to Norma, lately?” 

“No, doctor, I — I never heard of him. Are you certain 
that he knows Norma?” 

“I have seen them together?” 


NORMA LANE 


23 


“Where?” 

“At the Casino.” 

“And she never told me.” The whole demeanor of the 
young man changed. His face grew haggard. The lines 
about his firm mouth deepened. His strong frame seemed 
to tremble and grow weak. The news he had received left 
a wound that smarted and burned. So much for love. Neil 
Dare loved beautiful Norma Lane. It was the boast of Lake 
City that its daughters had more than their share of beauty, 
and whether a blessing or a curse, nature made these fair 
girls the peers of princesses or queens. None of all these 
human buds were fairer than Norma Lane. 

When Neil told her how he loved her — told her how 
every plan and every ambition of his life was woven about 
her, she did not say him nay. She bade him wait. “We are 
young yet,” she said, “and are not ready, Neil.” 

“No, not yet, but when this road is done Mr. Vance has 
promised me a chance — and I shall work — Oh, Norma, 
ril work, work, work for you my beautiful one.” 

And so he was waiting as she had asked, and a stranger 
had come between them. 

“What is he doing here?” Neil asked finally. 

“I am coming to that,” replied the doctor, and the scar 
on his face began to show the danger signal. “I found out 
yesterday that he is here to break down Vance’s credit. He 
is here to ruin the railway. He is here to excite the farmers 
against Vance, and I came this morning to see Wilberton, 
and warn him against this fellow.” 

“Could you be mistaken. Doctor, about him being with 
Norma?” 

“I could not be mistaken — it was last night — why should 
I tell you a lie? I have not been blind in regard to your 
affection for Norma. I’ve rejoiced in it, Neil, for I regard 


24 


NORMA LANE 


you as an honorable, safe young man, to whom a young 
woman may give her priceless love.” 

“Doctor, I love her so much I am a pitiful coward in her 
presence. I sometimes tremble for fear some foolish word 
may turn her against me, but you cannot understand that.” 

“I can’t, hey?” snapped the doctor. “May I ask you why?” 

“Oh, Doctor, you are a professional man — you are a 
surgeon — you can cut and saw a human being — a woman, 
a girl, even my beautiful Norma — or little Marion, as a 
butcher prepares ” 

“Stop, Neil, or old as I am I’ll assault you. Little Marion, 
you say. Why, boy. I’d hack myself to pieces inch by inch 
before I’d draw one drop of blood from her precious veins.” 
Then, lifting his face toward heaven as though in the pres- 
ence of the Infinite, he cried: “Great God Almighty, hear 
the boy. I’d cut and saw my little Marion, he says — she that 
was going from my arms to Yours, but I clung to her, I clung 
to her and saved her for her friends and for myself.” 

“Why, Doctor Harley,” and Neil stood awed in the pres- 
ence of the veteran, “Doctor, do you love Marion?” 

“Did ever a mother love her babe nestling in her bosom?” 

You are old enough to be her father.” 

“Yes, yes, I know. The years come on and leave us 
wrinkled and gray, but there is something that never grows 
old. Lovers have fondly and foolishly said: T hold her image 
in my heart.’ They don’t. The heart is simply a machine — an 
engine that keeps pumping, pumping on until it wears out 
and then they put us away. That which keeps the image of 
some woman enshrined as a thing that is sacred, grows 
wrinkled never.” 

“Does Marion know that you love her in that manner?” 

“I should say not. My indifferent, and often austere man- 
ner toward her would prevent any such imagination on her 
part.” 


NORMA LANE 


25 


The hard lines faded, Neil Dare, even in the midst of his 
panic over the unwelcome news the doctor brought, was 
forced to laugh. “Your austere manner is good. Doctor. You 
are as austere as that mother you mentioned a moment ago 
whose babe was nestling on her bosom.” 

“I’ve always hoped she would never suspicion my feel- 
ings toward her. I would have her think that it was simply her 
old physician who fought grim death as I fought the enemy on 
the field of battle. Marion was fourteen then and I sat by 
her side night after night or walked the floor carrying her in 
my arms as tho’ she were a babe. If there were no other 
reasons, and there are — Wilberton Vance knows the one 
great reason — I would help you fight that scoundrel Flood 
for Marion’s sake.” 

“We will stand together. Doctor.” 

“That we will, but don’t hint to Marion that I care for 
her. I’ve got to go now, but I’ll be back. I must see Vance.” 

When the Doctor’s retreating footsteps had died away Neil 
threw himself upon his open desk and fought back the tears. 

“If Norma was dying,” he thought, surely he would have 
the right to weep, and this was as bitter as death. The 
thoughtless laugh at the grief of a lover, yet what anguish 
is more keen than the passing of a loved one to the arms of 
another? Norma Lane had enthralled the soul of this strong- 
limbed, strong-hearted young man. She was the central figure 
in his every-day dream. In fancy he was building a home for 
her, and in the open door she stood ever waiting for him. 
Love paints such wonderful pictures. His haggard face was 
buried in his arms, and a sigh that was almost a sob escaped 
him as Marion came noiselessly into the office. 

“Neil, my brother, are you ill?” 

Like a sword thrust were these words — “my brother.” 
This brotherless little one loved Neil as she might have loved 
a brother as gentle and affectionate as Neil had been to her. 


26 


NORMA LANE 


Slowly he lifted his head, and she saw that grief had changed 
him while she was gone that short time. “May I go for the 
doctor, Neil?” 

“The doctor cannot help me.” 

“Can you tell me your trouble?” she asked, her voice 
trembling. 

“It concerns Norma — do you know anything — do you 
know that some one has come between us?” 

“I have been afraid that something was going to happen. 
The other evening I was talking about you, and Norma turned 
upon me petulantly, saying: “There are other gentlemen in 
the world worth considering.” 

“But there is none like Neil,” I said. 

“You will soon be old enough to comfort him.” She 
laughed heartlessly, I thought, as she went to her room and 
shut the door in my face. 

“Dear little loyal sister,” he said sadly, “how often I 
have fancied us walking home together from the office, and 
Norma standing waiting for us. In this picture was our little 
home — Norma’s and mine, and you were with us, my own 
little sister. Oh, Marion, Marion, must that picture fade?” 

“No, it shall not. Neil, don’t give her up; don’t let any 
one come between you. Will you tell me what you have 
heard?” 

“Yes, I’ll tell you. The doctor told me while you were 
gone. A stranger has been in the City for some days. He 
met Norma, and they have been seen together at the Casino.” 

“Neil, Neil, don’t let him steal her from you — fight him, 

fight him — Oh, my good, kind brother ” She sank upon 

her knees beside him sobbing piteously. 

So absorbed were they that they did not observe that 
someone was standing in the door looking at them. 

“Quite a little melodrama this,” said the stranger to him- 
self. Then he coughed slightly to attract attention and, as 


NORMA LANE 


27 


Neil and Marion arose, asked quietly if he could meet Mr. 
Vance. 

“He may be here any moment, but he has not yet put in 
an appearance this morning,” replied Neil, calmly and with- 
out sign of embarrassment. 

“Thank you, I will return later. Please say to him that I 
have a business proposition to present. My card — good 
morning.” 

Neil stood staring at the bit of pasteboard. Cyrus Flood 
was leaving the office. 


CHAPTER THREE. 


HAT is the man Norma has been meeting,” said 
Neil. 

“I cannot understand it,” replied Marion. 

“It seems to me now that I should have taken 
him by the throat and strangled him.” 

“No, Neil, that would have made matters worse — believe 
me, it will come out all right. Perhaps tomorrow evening 
you will have an opportunity to talk to her, that is, if we can 
come.” 

“You say you have a surprise for us?” 

“It is not much, and I will tell you about it. Norma and 
I have been talking about it since we heard you were to have 
a banquet, or whatever it is. You know how good you all 
were to papa when he was sick so long, and how beautiful 
were the flowers you sent, when he died. 

“Now Norma and I wish to decorate your tables. We 
can send them if we must, but we hoped we might come 
before the time to dine and arrange them ourselves.” 

“That is all right; we can manage it, Marion. Little sis- 
ter, I was looking forward to a jolly time tomorrow night, but 
now there is no joy in sight — it is all gloom.” 

“The sun will shine again, brother dear,” said Marion 
softly. 

Just then they heard a rush of footsteps, and Harold 
Brady followed Jean Vance into the office. 

“You didn’t beat me more than a second,” he said. 

“I was not aware that we were racing,” she answered 
indifferently. “Where is papa, Neil?” 

28 




NORMA LANE 


29 


“He has not been here this morning?” 

“Late, is he not?” 

“Later than usual, yes.” 

“You were almost two squares ahead of me when I 
started,” Harold interrupted. 

“What was the occasion for this rush, young man?” 

“You have heard of that new story, have you not, The 
Magnet?’ ” 

“Ah? A magnet draws steel, I know. I was not aware 
it had the same effect upon brass.” 

“Stung!” exclaimed Harold with melodramatic air. 

“If you are badly hurt. I’ll give you this; its odor may 
revive you;” and Jean gave him a rose . 

“I brought these for you, Marion, but we’ll spare one to 
the poor boy that has been ‘stung’ as he puts it.” 

‘ “Ah, one rose. 

One rose, but one by those fair fingers cull’d. 

Were worth a hundred kisses press’d on lips 
Less exquisite than thine.’ ” 

“Harold Brady, give that rose back to me — you do not 
deserve even common politeness,” and Jean’s frown was 
really threatening. 

“Don’t you remember, Jean, The Gardner’s Daughter?’ I 
read it to you once. You said you loved Tennyson, and I 
thought that I might fall heir to that affection, now that the 
good poet is gone.” 

“Don’t be silly, Harold,” she snapped. 

Never mind, the incident is closed,” he replied. 

“A man was here asking for Mr. Vance a short time 
before you came. Here is his card ; I anticipate we shall hear 
more of him ere long. Dr. Harley informs me that he has 
been here a week or ten days, perhaps longer. I may be 
prejudiced, in fact, I think I am, but the sooner he leaves 
Lake City the better it will be for several of us.” 


30 


NORMA LANE 


“What is the matter Neil? You are looking wonderfully 
glum this morning,” said Jean. 

“If what I fear is true, you will know all about it soon 
enough. You will doubtless meet him, Harold, and I beg of 
you to keep as close watch upon him as you can.” Neil then 
turned to Marion, who in reply to his softly uttered request 
began putting together certain papers upon her desk. 

“If you are intending to remain awhile, Miss Jean, Marion 
and I will go over some reports in the private office.” 

“Very well, run along, Mr. Brady, and I will take care of 
the office. Don’t sit there looking silly at me, young man,” 
she said, turning upon Harold suddenly. 

“Shall I go out and get a false face?” 

“It might make some improveemnt,” she remarked indif- 
ferently. 

“Honestly, Jean,” and with all his lightness and banter 
Harold Brady was deeply in earnest as he answered: “Hon- 
estly, Jean, I wish you wouldn’t ‘roast’ me all the time.” 

“You might as well get used to it.” 

“I presume you would make it pretty warm for me at 
times, but I am willing to chance it. Jean, if you would only 
try to care even the least little ” 

“Harold Brady, you used to be a bright, sensible, young 
man, but you are getting to be positively foolish.” 

“There it comes again, a regular avalanche of reproach. 
When I first knew you, Jean, you were kind, gentle and 
sweet.” 

“My sweeetness, I suppose, has palled upon your fastidious 
taste, sir.” 

“Nothing of the kind, and well you know it.” There was 
an earnestness and dignity in his reply that made her realize 
that the moment had arrived when sarcasm would not do if 
she cared to consider Harold Brady a friend. 


NORMA LANE 


31 


They had been friends — jolly companions — and now he 
was showing lover-like attentions. Even though these atten- 
tions were not displeasing, it was somewhat of a shock. Their 
association with each other had been so jolly, so much like 
two inseparable chums, that when he changed from chum to 
lover, she put herself on the defensive. 

“Harold,” she said, as her expressive and beautiful eyes 
looked fearlessly into his, “what if I should do as some girls 
are foolish enough to — take your arm on every possible occa- 
sion and cling to you with an affectation of childish fond- 
ness — in other words, a clinging sort of a girl — how long 
would you regard me with tolerance? You would sicken of 
me as men sicken of such girls the world over.” 

“That may be, but if I received from you even a shadow 
of affection my heart would dance ” 

“Don’t encourage your heart to dance, Harold,” she inter- 
rupted. “That might lead to serious consequences and you 
may have occasion to call Dr. Harley.” 

“I should call Doctor Jean Vance.” 

“Hush, there is papa,” she said warningly. 

The gentleman who came breezily and smartly into the 
office was a tall, fine looking specimen of manhood, about 
45 years of age. Women were wont to say he was handsome, 
and men were willing to concede that he was a manly man. 
Jean, who might readily be forgiven for her partiality, be- 
lieved him peerless among men. There was a tint of the 
ripening chestnut in his abundant hair — a tint that made her 
own tresses her crown of glory. 

“Papa, dear, you are late.” 

“I have been busy this morning — it seems to me I have 
a new office force — where is Neil?” 

“He and Marion are in the private office. 

“What can I do for you, Harold?” 


32 


NORMA LANE 


“I dropped in to see if there was anything new concern- 
ing the road.” 

Jean was looking steadily at the young man and his eyes 
fell guiltily. 

“Ananias,” she murmured. 

“What did you say, Jean?” asked her father. 

“I was talking to myself, I think.” 

“A habit that should not be encouraged in company. It 
sounded to me as if you had mentioned the name of Ana- 
nias.” 

“Papa, do you suppose that gentleman with the unpleas- 
ant reputation for veracity was ever a newspaper man?” 

“He probably possessed some of the qualifications,” Mr. 
Vance replied as he began opening his mail. 

“And Mrs. Ananias, although I believe she was not known 
by that name — it was probably Sophrona ” 

“What a rare Bible scholar,” interrupted Jean. 

“I may be wrong about the name, but I am of the opinion 
that she might have done well as a society reporter,” Harold 
answered. 

“Were you discussing the Old Testament when I ar- 
rived?” 

“No, except the unequaled value of the Golden Rule, as a 
precept.” 

“Very true, Harold, very true,” replied Mr. Vance. ‘And 
the faults of our brothers, we should write,’ etc. And by the 
way, you are on the Committee for the Social tomorrow 
evening. Have you got things going all right?” 

“Everything is in apple pie order — except the apple pie.” 

“Have you selected the toastmaster?” 

“We have.” 

“Judge Hardy, I presume.” 

“No. I have the honor of addressing him.” 


NORMA LANE 


33 


“You are the honored one, papa. What do you have to 
do?” 

“If I am expected to perform that function, I shall have 
little to do except look wise and call on others to do the enter- 
taining.” 

Vance, while running over his letters, found the missive 
from Darby Junction and handed it to his daughter. 

“Papa,” said Jean, when she had hastily read it. This let- 
ter has been a long time coming. Listen to this, but I’ll not 
bother you reading it. You may be interested in knowing, 
however, that Eleanor Clay is coming.” 

“Yes,” he answered absently. 

“She is a very sweet girl, papa.” 

“Indeed?” 

“You are quite indifferent now, but I would not be sur- 
prised if you make love to her before the week is out.” 

“Do you often get those foolish spells, daughter?” 

“Widowers are quite human, my dear dad, but I won’t 
scold if you like her — oh, well — just a little.” 

“You are very kind. I’m sure.” 

“And may I worship at the new shrine also?” 

“Mr. Brady, you may accompany me to the train at once, 
that is, if the train is not already in. Eleanor is a dear, good 
girl, and she would not put up with your nonsense for a 
minute.” 

Jean went to the window that looked out upon the street 
— the street that led from the depot. “Who is that, do you 
suppose? Papa, there comes Eleanor, and a queerly dressed 
woman with her. I know now, it is her old maid Aunt, but 
Eleanor did not write me that she was coming. There is 
the doctor with them, and his arms full of bandboxes and 
satchels.” 

Then Jean heard a shrill voice exclaim: “Is this where 
we are going to put up, Eleanor?” 


34 


NORMA LANE 


It may be well to learn how it came that Dr. Harley offi- 
ciated as escort or porter as he felt himself to be. The Doctor 
had gone from Vance’s office to the depot to meet the East- 
ern Express, believing there might be men of his acquaint- 
ance on board having business at the county seat, and some 
of these be interested in the Interurban Railway. As it hap- 
pened there were none upon the train, and the Doctor loung- 
ing easily upon a freight truck presented an unlikely appear- 
ance, at least unlike a professional gentleman of his standing. 
The Doctor was rather careless in dress. He wore his hair 
long, as was common in the war days, and he was ever loth 
to follow prevailing customs. His slouch hat was a bit dis- 
reputable; his long and well worn Prince Albert coat was 
buttoned carelessly. He stood erect and removed his hat 
with deference when approached by a middle aged woman, 
and a young lady of engaging appearance. 

He had heard the young woman say: “I am sure Jean 
would have# met us had she received my letter.” 

“Well, mebby this man might know something about 
them,” replied the elderly lady. “How de do, sir,” she said 
as the Doctor lifted his hat and shook back his iron gray 
mane. “Do you happen to know a man by the name of Wil- 
berton Vance?” 

“I know him, Madame. His residence is quite a distance 
from here, but his office is near by and I’ll be pleased to 
direct you.” 

“I wish you would, we’ll pay you for it.” 

“Thank you,” replied the Doctor, coldly. 

“We will regard it as a great favor if you will,” the young 
woman said, believing that her companion was mistaken 
about the man they supposed to be an ordinary depot lounger 
willing to carry baggage for a small sum. 

With enthusiasm born of friendship that had not ceased 
when the girls left the Seminary, where they had been asso- 


NORMA LANE 


35 


ciates and companions, they were soon in each others arms. 
Stiff and erect stood the old maid, as she proved to be, until 
Mr. Vance came forward and asked her to be seated, saying: 
“The young ladies will remember presentely that there are 
those who are not so well acquainted as they.” 

In the meantime the Doctor had deposited his burden and 
was about to turn away when the woman abruptly asked: 
“How much do we owe you?” 

“Don’t mention it, please.” There was a resenting flash 
in his eyes, for he had observed that Marion had buried her 
face in her handkerchief to smother a peal of laughter. 

“Take the money,” said the old maid ostentatiously open- 
ing her purse, “I’m not broke. You look as if you needed it, 
goodness knows. Here is a dime — take it and git a hair cut. 
What do you think, Eleanor, this man won’t take a cent.” 

“Never mind. Aunt, we are under all the greater obliga- 
tion. “Jean,” she continued, “this is my Aunt Louise Clay, 
my father’s sister ” 

“His old maid sister, why don’t you say. And so this is 
Jean I’ve heard Eleanor talk so much about. Well, Jean, I 
jist made up my mind at the last minute that I’d come. 
Eleanor didn’t invite me. I invited myself, and that is why 
she didn’t write to you about me cornin’ along. I said to 
Eleanor, I wonder, said I, if that girl friend of yours would 
turn your old Aunt out in the cow pasture if she dropped in 
on you also, for a few days. I was just dying to go some- 
where, for I’ve saved up three dollars and fifty cents a week 
— butter and egg money — for the last four months, and as 
the boys say, I feel like Mowin’ some of it.” 

“You are most welcome,” laughed Jean. “And I hope 
the Doctor will see that you do not get lonesome.” 

“The Doctor! What Doctor?” 

“Our good friend. Dr. Harley, who escorted you here. 


36 


NORMA LANE 


Doctor, permit me to introduce Miss Eleanor Clay and her 
Aunt, Miss Louise Clay.” 

The doctor bowed with great deference to Miss Eleanor, 
while his greeting to the old maid was less gracious. 

“Land sakes — that man a doctor. If he don’t look for all 
the world like ” 

“Please, Aunt, do not be rude, it is unlike you to be un- 
kind,” and Eleanor looked distressed. 

“Unkind? No. Didn’t I offer to pay him? Say, Doctor, 
I’ll apologize. I would’t hurt your feelings for a two dollar 
bill. How do do, anyway? You’ll excuse me, but I’ve seen 
some funny looking doctors in my day, but you march in a 
squad all by yourself.” 

Eleanor knew how useless it was to attempt to stop her 
aunt when she got started, and began conversation with Jean 
more loudly than her wont, reminding her friend that she had 
never been presented to Mr. Vance. When Eleanor and Mr. 
Vance looked into each others eyes the young woman blushed 
as she saw in the brown depths admiration. When she recov- 
ered from the confusion Jean was quick to observe, she said: 
“I had no idea, Jean, your papa was so young, so splendid.” 
Mr. Vance turned to speak to Aunt Louise, who when she 
had expressed herself to freely concerning the personal 
appearance of the doctor, began to realize that she had been 
impolite if not impudent and had caused her niece no little 
embarrassment. 

Wilberton Vance introduced himself to Aunt Louise, as 
Jean was presenting Eleanor to Marion, Neil and Harold. 
Harold made no attempt to be gallant or witty and was 
awarded by an approving smile that left him in a most satis- 
factory state of mind. 

While Miss Louise Clay was fully ten years older than 
Wilberton Vance, she replied to his graceful and courteous 
greeting by saying: “An’ so your Jean’s papa, an’ while you 


NORMA LANE 37 

must be about my age, or nearly so, I must confess you are 
dreadful young lookin’.” 

“I must believe. Miss Clay, that you are deliberately 
flattering me,” he replied. 

“No, I’m not. I’ve jist half a notion to set my cap for 
you myself.” 

“Remember, you are in great danger. Miss Clay. I warn 
you I am a most mercenary individual. I heard you tell how 
much you have saved this summer,” Vance replied, laugh- 
ingly. 

“Oh, that’s jist my loose change. I’ve something put 

away in the bank ” she began when Eleanor interposed 

and the voluble lady was hurriedly introduced to Marion and 
the young men. 

“Vance,” said the doctor, “while they have that descendant 
of Xantippe interested for a time in other people, I want to 
go over a matter of special interest to you.” 

“Very well, doctor, we will be alone presently. Jean will 
call a carriage and take her guests home.” 

Just then Norma Lane entered the office and seeing so 
many present was about to withdraw, as she murmured an 
apology. Neil started to join her, when Jean introduced 
Eleanor and they formed a group that caused a stranger, 
then entering the office, to pause, half embarrassed in the 
presence of these young women — each a distinct type of 
beauty. 

Neil Dare was the only one present to note the embar- 
rassment illy concealed when Norma turned to look upon 
the stranger. Vance was standing by his desk, his hand 
upon the shoulder of the doctor, as if detaining him, when 
the stranger presented his card as he said: “Have I the 
pleasure of meeting Mr. Vance?” 

Vance took the proffered hand as he said: “Be seated, 
Mr. Flood, my friends will be leaving in a moment.” 


38 


NORMA LANE 


Dr. Harley closely observed Norma, as had Neil, and 
when the girl attempted to excuse herself and leave the office 
the doctor reached the door first and prevented her departure. 

“Wait a few moments, Norma, I wish to see you; Jean 
and her friends will be leaving soon,” he said. 

“I must return at once,” she answered. 

“I have noticed your manner since that fellow came in — 
what does it mean, Norma?” 

“Do not, I pray; you attract the attention of everyone — 
you have no right to detain me.” 

“Neil, come here. This thing may as well be settled one 
time as another,” the doctor commanded. 

Fortunately Jean, who had been at the telephone, had not 
observed the drama that was being played. Neither had Mr. 
Vance, but the stranger — Flood — was alert to all that was 
transpiring. 

“I have sent for a carriage and it will be here in a 
moment. Come with me and see the roses and leave the 
gentlemen to discuss business. Will you come with us, 
Norma, or do you wish to see Marion?” Marion caught the 
meaning of the doctor’s quick signal, and called: “Norma, 
wait a moment. I want to see you about tomorrow evening.” 

Norma had hoped to get away by accepting Jean’s invita- 
tion to join them in the side lawn, but when Marion called 
she could not leave without noticeable rudeness. In the 
meantime Vance had excused himself to Flood and accom- 
panied the ladies to the side lawn. Flood attempted to appear 
at ease, although aware of the unfaltering gaze of the doctor 
upon him. 

“Norma,” said Neil, and there was rare tenderness in his 
tones — “Norma, why have you acted so strangely of late?” 
He paused, but she did not answer. “Have I unconsciously 
offended you?” 

“No,” she answered sullenly. 


NORMA LANE 


39 


“Is he the cause of it?” and the young man pointed 
directly at Flood. 

“Have some respect for me,” she murmured, “if you 
have none for strangers or yourself.” 

Neil left his desk and placing himself in front of Flood, 
asked: “What is this young lady to you?” 

“What business is it of yours?” 

“I’m making it my business.” 

“I imagine as much,” sneered Flood. 

“I assume the right, as a friend,” and Neil was looking 
into the shifting eyes of the man before him. 

“I resent it, sir,” said Flood finally. 

“I demand that you shall answer me or I’ll ” 

Please, Neil, don’t.” At the sound of Marion’s voice — 
at once an appeal and a warning that he must not forget him- 
self — his threatening attitude changed. At that moment 
Mr. Vance returned, and Flood, turning to him, exclaimed: 
“I appeal to Mr. Vance for protection.” 

“You d — dod gasted coward,” began the doctor. Marion 
understood his supreme effort to control himself, and under- 
stood as well that her presence alone prevented a scene of 
violence. She knew that the man who had carried her in 
his arms for hours had muscles of steel, and that even hi^ 
years had not weakened them. 

“What is the trouble here?” asked Vance in low tones, 
but there was thunder upon his brow . 

“This young man has insulted me,” said Flood. 

“What is the meaning of this, Neil?” 

“I am waiting for an answer.” 

“I’ll tell you, Mr. Vance,” and the doctor drew near 
Flood. Norma now had an opportunity to leave the office — 
her eyes were fixed upon the group in front of her — her 
face pale and her breath coming in quick gasps. 


40 


NORMA LANE 


“I came here this morning to tell you about this man,” 
continued the doctor. “You were not here, and now, face 
to face with him. I’ll tell you. This man is here to try to 
ruin you.” 

“This person is mistaken, Mr. Vance,” interrupted Flood. 

“ The person,’ as you put it, is not mistaken.” 

“Neil, did you threaten Mr. Flood because you had heard 
this story?” asked Vance. 

“Let me answer that also,” interrupted the doctor. “I 
was the tale bearer, that brought Neil unpleasant news as 
well as you. He loves the daughter of your dead friend 
and brother as you call him. I sat by the bedside of Henry 
Lane, when he was passing, as you well know. I heard him 
say to you, ‘Vance, my brother, you will see that my little 
girls are kept safely when I am gone.’ You know why I 
care deeply for Elisha Lane’s grandchildren — why I am 
making this my affair as well as Neil’s — you know it, 
Vance, you know it. This man is a stranger, we know not 
whether he has a wife waiting him at home — and she 
knows not — but he meets her clandesinely — not as a man 
of honor, but as a damned scoundrel.” The voice of the vet- 
eran rang out like a bugle call to battle. “There, I have said 
it. I never took your oath, but I’m on guard. The grand- 
child of my old Captain is in peril — and by , no, I won’t 

take His holy name upon my lips in anger — but, Vance, I 
am on guard.” 

“This is a remarkable city for melodrama,” sneered 
Flood. “I came here this morning and found the stenog- 
rapher kneeling by the side of the blustering young man 
there, and now comes this impossible old person ” 

“Say, you human skunk — ” the doctor’s fist was clenched, 
and his eyes blazing — “I am in the office of my friend; I am 
in the presence of ladies; or the impossible old person would 
take one poke at your marble jaw and break it.’ ’ 


NORMA LANE 


41 


“This is infamous,” and Flood assumed a defiant posi- 
tion. 

“Doctor, will you listen to me a moment,” and Wilberton 
Vance stepped between the stranger and his old friend. “As 
you have said, there are ladies present, and my office is not 
adapted to the prize ring ” 

“There is a back yard here and the ladies will remain 
in the office while this importation from the Bowery, in 
New York, finds out whether I am putting up a bluff, or not.” 

Marion had not said a word — not even to Norma, who 
stood transfixed staring at Flood and then at the doctor. She 
knew that her indiscreetness, to say the least, had brought 
these men to a point where a personal altercation was diffi- 
cult to avoid. Marion came quickly to the side of the doctor, 
and laid her hand upon his arm. 

“You have been my good friend always,” she said. 

“I am not less your friend, Marion, because I seek to 
keep beyond reproach the name of your sister.” 

“It would be a reproach to her if you quarreled with this 
stranger on her account,” persisted the girl. The eyes of 
wonderful blue — the tender, wistful eyes looking into the 
face of her staunch old friend was fast melting his fierce 
anger. 

“Mr. Flood, I am not accusing you of wrong doing,” said 
Vance, “but I must reiterate what the doctor has said, you 
are a stranger to us all. Her father was my friend. I am 
the guardian of these girls, his daughters, and I have the 
right to know. May I ask you this question, ‘Did you meet 
Norma Lane in the conventional manner that the usages of 
society permit?’ ” 

“I know of no law, or custom among gentlemen that will 
compel me to violate a confidence that may exist between 
that young woman and myself. If she desires to explain I 
shall offer no protest.” 


42 


NORMA LANE 


“She shall explain,” exclaimed Neil. Flood slowly turned 
and with sneering smile expressed his contempt for the 
speaker more forcibly than words could have done. Neil felt 
that the moment had come for him to act. He had borne 
much. Turning to his employer and friend, he said, “Mr. 
Vance, I owe you much. No one knows how much except 
myself, but that fellow must answer to me for that silent 
insult — and answer now.” 

“One moment, Neil,” Vance quickly cried. “Until Norma 
gives you the right to speak, I alone possess the right. Mr. 
Flood, if you are free to pay this girl honorable attention 
I have no disposition to interfere. If you have not, it would 
be well for you to leave this city. She is an orphan. Her 
father was my friend — aye, more than friend — my brother 
— bound by an oath sacred in the sight of Heaven. Her 
father was an Elk, if you know not what that means, I can 
tell you.” 

“Mr. Vance,” and the stranger spoke with apparent feel- 
ing, “I honor those sentiments, and I honor you for the man- 
ner in which you have presented them.” 

“Perhaps, gentlemen,” and Vance turned to the doctor 
and to Neil, “there is an apology due Mr. Flood.” 

“Let her tell me what this means. Let her come to me 
as she once came when there were no secrets that either 
cared to hide. Norma, Norma — come back to me.” 

“I cannot, Neil, I cannot,” she murmured, coldly. 


CHAPTER FOUR. 


HE Lodge of Elks at Lake City had not held a social 
session since the death of Henry S. Lane, who 
had been the first Exalted Ruler of a lodge that 
had reason to be proud of its membership. In the 
Charter list were Judges of the Courts, an ex- 
Governor, leading business men, bankers and manufacturers. 
As has been said. Lane was one of the leading men of the 
city, not only as the head of a great business institution, 
but a man of wide charity, of loving and generous disposition. 

It was fitting, therefore, that an Order whose beneficence 
is felt wherever it exists, and whose gentle charities are 
known only to themselves, the recipients and Heaven, should 
elect a man as its leader who never turned his back coldly 
upon a widow struggling to live and keep her little ones about 
her, or withheld his hand when ragged children paused in 
their play, as he passed, to catch his smile which fell upon 
them like a benediction. It was he, as Exalted Ruler, who 
organized the first Charity fund of the lodge and made it the 
most loved benefaction in Lake City. 

If from God’s beautiful somewhere there comes to earth 
on Christmas Day, invisible hosts on silent wing, to see what 
men, on whom the gifts of fortune had been showered, 
would do for Earth’s poor, hungry ones, they could have 
swept back on pinions — glory tinted to the open gates of 
Pearl, that first Elks’ Christmas, singing a glad new song 
when “the least of these,” as the Master called them, were 
bountifully fed and generously clothed. 


T 


43 


44 


NORMA LANE 


It was natural, therefore, that the rich who knew him 
well, and the poor who loved him well, paused from all 
duties when he was put to rest. It was a wan faced little 
one, who had stood close beside him on the occasion of the 
Elks’ first Christmas offering, who wondered as the plumed 
hearse rolled by, “if God had anybody left to help Him, now 
that Mr. Lane was gone.” 

It was natural, therefore, that the social features of Elk- 
dom should be omitted for a longer season than usual. It 
was natural, also, that the daughters of Henry S. Lane 
should desire to express in some tangible form their grate- 
fulness for the brotherly attentions shown by the local Lodge 
of Elks. 

When the word was passed along to all that could be seen 
that Norma and Marion Lane would come, a hurried change 
was made by the Committee, and an announcement made 
that an impromptu ladies’ social would be given. 

Margery was informed that there was work for her to do 
in the kitchen. A waiter from the neighboring cafe was en- 
gaged to help prepare for the event. When it was learned 
that ladies would be present, the members proceeded to 
inspect their dress suits at once, and from an informal stag 
affair, it was changed to an evening function of unusual ele- 
gance. 

Vance sent for Dr. Harley and said to him: “The Elks 
have a social tonight. There will be ladies present. I want 
you there, and you must not refuse me. You had best think 
of something you may care to say, for I shall doubtless call 
upon you.” 

“I had better wear my store clothes, I suppose,” replied 
the Doctor. 

“And by the way,” continued Vance, “I invited Flood. I 
do not know as yet what his plans or purposes are, but he 


NORMA LANE 


45 


talks fair, and I felt that it might do no harm to invite him 
as my guest.” 

“Old Bill Gibbs has got a pet skunk and a rattlesnake 
at home, you might borrow them — but it ain’t my affair — • 
I’ll come. All I ask is, don’t put me near him at the table, 
I might be tempted to do something unparliamentary.” 

It was a regular meeting night of the Lake City Lodge 
on which the banquet or social was held, and long before the 
meeting, Neil and Harold, Kiser, the restaurant man, and 
Margery were on hand to prepare for the event. 

“I think I had better make the punch, Neil,” said Harold. 

“Better have Kiser do it, he is more familiar with that 
sort of work,” replied Neil. 

“Hoch der Kaiser,” cried Harold, quite content to let some 
one else do the work. “Doctor Harley told me he would be 
here tonight as a guest of Mr. Vance ,and in honor of the 
event would wear evening dress the first time in twenty 
years,” said Neil. 

“Good for the doctor. Now we will ask Vance to have 
the old boy respond to the toast. The Ladies,’ ” and Harold 
peered into the lodge room where the members were begin- 
ning to gather, to see if the toastmaster had arrived. “That 
rare old bachelor,” he continued, “would be just the man 
to respond to that toast.” 

“Perhaps a member of the lodge should make the re- 
sponse — you are the man for that I should think,” replied 
Neil. 

“I respond to that toast with Jean Vance present? With 
her eyes fixed upon me I’d stammer and break down.” 

“You might quote poetry, as you usually do. It was 
because of your familiarity with the poets that I considered 
you well fitted for that part in the program. 

“About the time I should get started I could recall noth- 
ing except Tennyson’s “Madeline’ and spout: 


46 


NORMA LANE 


“ ‘Thou art not steep’d in golden langours, 

No tranced summer calm is thine, 

Ever varying Madeline. 

Thro’ light and shadow thou dost range, 

Sudden glances, sweet and strange, 

Delicious spites and darling angers. 

And airy forms of flitting change.’ ” 

“An admirable description of Jean,” said Neil, as in his 
eyes there came a trace of pain — and the low sigh told that 
another filled his thoughts. 

“That sigh tells me something has gone wrong, Neil.” 

“Yes, very, very wrong.” 

“I might guess that the girl and the man will be here 
tonight, both of them.” 

“Yes, both of them” — and Neil’s face grew stern. 

“Let me prophesy for a moment and my prophetic eye 
takes in a scene that shows the mists of doubt all cleared 
away — and this girl loving the poets as I do will some day 
read these lines to you ,and when she does, she will not be 
obliged to wait for death to be clasped in the embrace for 
which she then will yearn. Mark well my words — or my 
quotation, rather,” and Harold with excellent modulation 
repeated these lines — the lines which haunted Neil morning 
and night for many days thereafter: 

“ ‘My whole soul waiting silently. 

All naked in the sultry sky 
Droops blinded with his shining eye; 

I will possess him or will die. 

I will grow round him in his place. 

Grow, live, die looking on his face. 

Die, dying clasp’d in his embrace!’ ” 


NORMA LANE 


47 


“That is all very fine, Harold, but she — oh, there is ever 
one she — and that one all too often forgets.” 

Unnoticed by the young men Margery had entered the 
dining hall and listened with open mouth to Harold’s read- 
ing of the lines from “Fatima.” 

“Why didn’t you wait and make that speech at the meet- 
in’?” she asked. 

“Margery, my beautiful one,” began Harold, “There is 
an opportunity ” 

“Cut it — cut it out,” she cried. “I’m not your beautiful 
one.” 

“Perhaps not, I meant that in a Pickwickian sense, fair 
Margery.” 

“I don’t care anything about your picnician sense — but 
cut out the ‘taffy.’ ” 

“That is all right, Margery, dear, now there is an oppor- 
tunity for you to win a measure of immortality in the kitchen,” 
and Harold bowed profoundly. 

“Yes, I got a chance to win 75 cents a washin’ your dirty 
dishes. ’Pon my word I’ve wondered sometimes whether you 
was born that way or whether you got to be a sort of durned 
fool when you growed up,” and with that Margery returned 
to the kitchen. 

“Oh! that was a soaker, wasn’t it?” he said. “Neil, you 
think that that man Flood will be here tonight?” 

“Mr. Vance invited him.” 

“I will see if he is in the parlor. I don’t care to have 
the girls tangled up with him.” 

“What girls?” asked Neil rather sullenly. 

“Jean and her friend.” 

“You need not worry about them. There is only one that 
he is paying attention to.” 

“I take it that Flood is a pretty slick citizen and girls 
are inclined to take to a fellow like that. How strange it is 


48 


NORMA LANE 


that the angelic sex, as some chump has called them, take 
to a man like that. The less they know about a man, par- 
ticularly a handsome devil, the more they care for him.” 

“If I caught Jean making languishing eyes at him there 
would be an item for the opposition newspaper.” 

“You need not fear for her. She has a father to watch 
over her. An orphan old enough to do as she pleases largely 
is more easily the prey of such as he.” It was Neil and not 
Harold who went to the parlor door, but Flood was not there. 
Two or three ladies had arrived, the wives of members who 
came early. 

“Had I my wits about me,” Neil was thinking, “I would 
have brought some roses and have placed them where Norma 
shall sit. She might care for my flowers, even if she no 
longer cares — no, I cannot say it even to myself — I will not 
yield to him. His smile of triumph yesterday haunts me 
all the time.” 

“The girls are coming; they will be here in a few 
moments, see?” and Harold called to Neil. 

While the young men were peering through the curtains 
Margery returned and, looking over the table, helped herself 
to a sandwich and a pickle, and drawing a chair to the table 
began eating. Presently Neil and Harold discovered her, and 
in a moment were by her side. 

“Margery, that will do,” said Neil, sharply. 

“Of course, it’s all I intended to take jist now.” 

“If you are hungry, Margery, stay in the kitchen and eat 
what you need. You are not expected to come into the ban- 
quet room.” 

“Of course, Margery ain’t good enough to be invited to 
the banquet.” 

“You are invited to be present to do certain work and get 
paid for it; most assuredly you were not invited here as our 
guest.” 


NORMA LANE 


49 


During this brief discussion of Margery’s duties, Harold 
was preparing a drink for her. He put a spoonful of wine 
in a glass of water, placed therein a bit of lemon and a small 
portion of sugar. 

“Maid of Astolot,” he said with mock humility, “here is 
nectar, I fain would serve you.” 

“I’ll take a drink, but one of these days, young feller, 
you’ll call me a name that will make me git back at you.” 

“Kind Heaven forbid,” he replied, assuming a tragic pose. 

“ ’Pon my soul I believe he is drunk,” she said, as she 
hurried from the room. 

“I wonder if you would be so full of fun if that man came 
between you and Jean?” asked Neil. 

“I cannot answer that, but I am sure I should have a bit 
of fun with the man from New York. One has got to do 
something heroic to make an impression on that young 
woman, and so I’d begin by making an impression on Flood, 
with my fist — that is, if he didn’t impress me first.” 

Harold was interrupted at this point by the entrance of 
Jean and Eleanor, who came laden with baskets of flowers. 

“We do not propose to be outdone if we are simply imi- 
tators,” remarked Jean. 

“Very charming of you. I’m sure,” Harold said. 

“How very original you are, Mr. Brady,” was Jean’s re- 
sponse. 

“Jean, you are positively cruel to Mr. Brady,” cried 
Eleanor. 

“He don’t mind it, and besides if we relieve him of work 
he will forgive anything we may say.” 

“For women must work, and men must weep. 

Our victuals and drink will not long keep 
For the herd outside is groaning.” 


50 


NORMA LANE 


“The poet would turn over in his grave if he could hear 
that wretched parody,” Jean answered. 

“Jean, can you recall the lines from which Mr. Brady has 
given his impromptu version?” Eleanor asked. 

“It is from Charles Kingsley’s ‘Three Fishers’: 

“ ‘For men must work and women must weep. 

And there’s little to earn and many to keep 
Though the harbor bar be moaning.’ ” 

“At least his version is clever for an impromptu effort,” 
and Eleanor laughed heartily. 

“You would not encourage him, Eleanor, if you suffered 
through months of impromptu effusions,” was Jean’s re- 
sponse. “If he only would attempt an original idea I would 
not mind it,” she continued. 

“I have one now,” said Harold. 

“Don’t let it escape you. An idea should be considered 
a most valuable possession where there is such a dearth of 
them,” retorted Jean in shriller tones than usual. 

“It is not only an idea, but a discovery,” he said. 

“Will wonders never cease?” 

“May we share with you this new idea, or discovery?” 
asked Miss Clay. 

“Most assuredly. I have discovered how Mr. Vance’s 
daughter resembles Cordelia, Lear’s youngest daughter,” and 
Harold wore an air of wisdom. 

“In what manner, pray?” asked Eleanor. 

“ ‘Her Voice was ever soft, gentle and low, an excellent 
tt’iiig in woman!’ ” 

“I accept the rebuke, Mr. Brady, and congratulate you 
on relying upon Shakespeare instead of upon yourself.” 

Further conversation was interrupted by Norma and 
Marion, who came with their contribution of flowers. Jean 


NORMA LANE 


51 


and Eleanor congratulated the girls upon having originated 
the pleasing departure and related how they had been imi- 
tators in the grand work of making beautiful the tables of 
their friends. 

“We are under such deep obligations,” Norma said in 
answer to the congratulations. 

“You should not look upon it in the light of an obliga- 
tion,” replied Neil, as he drew near the group. 

Norma bowed, but did not reply, and Neil turned aside 
deeply hurt at her indifference — if not deliberate cut. 

Marion was at his side in a moment, saying: “It is very 
dear of you, Neil, to put it that way, but you know how we 
felt about it.” 

“I understand, Marion,” he replied softly. 

As Norma was placing the flowers in vases sent for that 
purpose, she came near Neil, and for a moment their eyes 
met — in his an appeal — in hers no kindly answer. 

“May I speak to you a moment,” Neil said. 

“If you wish,” and Norma’s manner was chillingly indif- 
ferent. 

“Why do you avoid me?” 

“It is best so.” 

“Do you mean that this stranger of whom you know noth- 
ing has poisoned your mind against me?” If Neil’s knowl- 
edge of the so-called weaker sex had been greater he would 
have pursued a different method. Jealousy does not possess 
reasoning powers, is never diplomatic, but blunders onward 
like a maddened animal. Norma’s reply was not soothing: 
“We never discuss you.” 

“You meet him secretly,” he asserted. 

“What right have you to repeat such rumors?” 

“The right of a man who loves you.” 

“When did I give you that right?” 


52 


NORMA LANE 


“That matters not,” he answered angrily. “I shall keep 
that scoundrel from making your name a by-word and re- 
proach.” 

She did not answer until the wave of anger receded and 
left her pale and indignant. “You are insulting, sir,” she 
said. 

“Norma,” he answered pleadingly, “I meant no insult and 
you know it. I simply wish to win you back.” 

“The man you traduce would not dare insult me as you 
have done.” 

Thus was the red flag waved again in the face of a mad- 
dened animal. 

“Not a man,” he answered fiercely, “but a devil — do you 
hear me, a devil.” 

“Never speak to me again, Neil Dare.” 

“Norma, Norma, one word more” — it was the lover — 
not the angry man, whose heart cried out for one last word. 

“No,” she answered bitterly and turned away from him. 

Marion had been watching them, and when Norma started 
to leave the room she was soon by the side of her angry 
sister. 

“What is the matter, Norma?” 

“I will never speak to him again.” 

“Norma, you will regret this some day.” 

“Do not preach to me — go comfort your friend if you 
wish.” 

“I am not ashamed to comfort him and love him ” 

“You love him, do you?” Norma sneered, “love him anjd 
confess it, when he has been begging me to ” 

“Norma, have you no shame? I love as a sister may love 
a brother — the brother I had hoped he might be.” 

“Neil,” she said as she joined him, “Neil, I am sorry.” 

“Yes, little one — a beautiful dream is ended.” 


NORMA LANE 


53 


The sudden entrance of Mr. Vance at this moment pre- 
vented further general conversation. 

“Ladies, we are very grateful for your thoughtfulness. 
Never before has our banquet room looked so beautiful. I am 
certainly pleased that you and Miss Clay are here, Jean. 
You did not tell me you were coming.” 

“I did not tell you for fear you might discourage the 
idea, but we had a special invitation from a gentleman who 
informs us he is a member of the Committee of Arrange- 
ments.” 

“I need not have two guesses to tell you his name.” 

“It might encourage you, papa, to do your very best to- 
night when you learn that Eleanor brought that bunch of 
beauties there, to decorate your place at the table.” 

“How did you know where I should sit?” 

“Harold told me.” 

Who?” 

“Mr. Harold Brady. I recall that you told me not long 
since that he was the lord high Esquire of your Lodge.” 

“There is no ‘lord’ to it, Jean, just plain Esquire,” said 
Harold. 

“Well, plain Esquire, didn’t you tell me?” 

“I probably intimated something to that effect,” Brady 
answered. 

“Young man, I may be obliged to prefer charges against 
you,” said Vance. 

“Oh, there is nothing in the ritual which prevents telling 
everything at a ladies’ social. No secrets go there.” 

“You imagine that is real witty, don’t you, Mr. Brady?” 
Jean’s moiie seemed a sort of invitation that Harold could 
scarce resist even in the presence of her father. 

“Everything is ready, Mr. Vance,” said Neil, “and the 
boys are clamoring.” 


54 


NORMA LANE 


“I do not wonder considering the unusual attractions,” 
replied Mr. Vance. “Tell the boys we will be ready in a 
moment. Ladies, may I ask you to follow me to the parlor. 
You will be invited to join us when we are ready to receive 
you.” 

The girls were escorted to the parlor, where were a num- 
ber of the sex who came to enjoy the first ladies’ social 
session held by the Lake City Elks. Vance then repaired to 
the lodge room and asked the brothers to fall in line, placing 
the guests, among whom were Dr. Harley and Cyrus Flood, in 
front, and led the way at once to the banquet room. 

“Gentlemen,” he said, “you will be seated, but at the 
sound of the gavel you will rise. You are aware that this is 
our first ladies’ social. It was more by accident than design, 
as the daughters of our beloved, but ever absent brother, 
Henry S. Lane, begged that they might have an opportunity 
of expressing in some form their gratefulness, for what we 
know was our simple duty, but which they consider an act 
beyond their power to repay. They have brought these fra- 
grant blooms to show that they, like our great brotherhood, 
cannot forget. The committee to escort the ladies are wait- 
ing, and I need not tell you that when the gavel falls each 
guest and brother is on his feet to pay the tribute of respect 
that womanhood demands.” 

As he concluded the parlor doors were opened and the 
Committee, Neil, Harold, and three other members, escorted 
the ladies to tables reserved for them. 

When the ladies entered the banquet hall the lodge mem- 
bers answered the quick, sharp raps by rising and with most 
hearty applause, remained standing until their guests were 
seated. Someone then started the lodge chorus: 

“For they are jolly good fellows. 

As ever they can be. 


NORMA LANE 


55 


We will drink to their beauty, 

It is simply our duty, 

For jolly good fellows are we.” 

While Margery’s place was in the kitchen where she had 
plenty to do, she could not resist the temptation to see how 
the ladies were dressed, how they were seated and what gen- 
tlemen were seated with them. There were strict orders that 
the door leading into the kitchen should be kept closed, but 
she, having made up her mind to do the utterly undreamed 
of act, came hurriedly to the table where the ladies were 
seated, and in a loud voice asked: “Marion, can’t I help you 
to something?” 

Even Harold with his fund of resources was nonplussed 
for the moment. Neil, who was standing near, turned upon 
the woman, and restraining the anger that arose at the sight 
of the bedraggled and ill-dressed dishwasher, said in low, 
but commanding tones: “Go back to the kitchen at once, 
Margery.” 

“All right. The Sultan of Sliberia has given his orders,” 
she said as she looked over the tables filled to the utmost 
limit by the members and their friends. 

“A new title for the Chairman of the Committee — broth- 
ers, did you catch it? — ‘The Sultan of Sly-beer-ia,’ ” said 
Harold. 

A hearty laugh followed this promptly forgiven pun, as 
it relieved the embarrassment of the occasion. As Margery 
marched toward the kitchen with the dignity of a grenadier, 
the boys began to sing: 

“For she is a jolly good fellow 
As ever she can be ” 

Vance rapped for order and said: “Ladies and Gentle- 
men — What I shall say to you, as master of ceremonies shall 
be brief. I shall say it now while the dinner is being served. 


56 


NORMA LANE 


I wish to impress upon the minds of our guests that so far as 
the lines of the poem — if poem it may be called — does not 
include the Elks ; I allude to the verses claimed by an erratic 
Son of Kentucky, now gone beyond the sundown, and by a 
gifted poetess of the North whose passion laden lines are 
familiar to most of you. Doubtless you have them now in 
mind: 

“ ‘Laugh and the world laughs with you. 

Weep, and you weep alone.’ 

“Whoever wrote it never heard the dominant chord in 
the heart song of the Elk. We feast, we laugh, we welcome 
with hearty handclasp the friend and brother. The glasses 
may click at times, but when sorrow comes to one of us, it 
comes to all. 

“We teach loyalty and love of country and flag; we 
believe that all things good comes from the Fountain Head 
of all goodness; we teach Charity and Brotherly Love, twin 
virtues that must live forever. In the words of the great and 
well beloved American: “With malice toward none, and with 
charity for all’ — I bid you welcome.” 

The applause that greeted these remarks was most gen- 
erous, and with laughter and good fellowship the dinner was 
concluded. 

Following the banquet there were speeches and songs by 
the members who were gifted in certain lines. Finally Toast- 
Master Vance anounced that Dr. Jno. P. Harley, a guest, 
would respond to the toast, “The Ladies.” 

As the doctor slowly arose he was greeted with a recep- 
tion that caused a wave of red to sweep over the grim face 
of the veteran, while Vance then concluded: 

“ ‘He jests at scars who never felt a wound,’ says Shakes- 
peare, and he who will now address you wears a scar that is 
a badge of honor won on the field of battle. If on his heart 


NORMA LANE 


57 


some woman has left a scar, it is hidden. Because of his 
unselfish devotion, his chivalric demeanor toward all woman- 
kind, he has been chosen to respond to the toast, ‘The 
Ladies.’ ” 

“My friends,” said the doctor, “more leap years than I 
care to count — particularly in this presence — have come 
and gone and left me free to discuss this theme, worthy of 
one more gifted, without fear of receiving a curtain lecture 
when the hour comes for sleep. 

“It was a pessimistic German who wrote: ‘Frauen und 
Jungfrauen soil man loben, es sie erlogen.’ ” 

The speaker paused a moment when someone called: 

“Come again. Doctor.” 

“Give us something easy,” cries another. 

“I had hoped,” the doctor resumed, “that you would not 
demand the cold, unfeeling English. Even with my imper- 
fect German it might pass as a compliment with those who 
have neglected Goethe and Schiller in their native and melo- 
dious numbers. Truth, and your demands compel the blunt 
interpretation: ‘Women and girls must be praised whether it 
be truth or not.’ Therefore, I have been chosen to praise 
those whom we individually or collectively love, whether it 
be truth or not. 

“I am sure, however, the ladies will forgive an old fellow 
whose pathway in life led only into thickets of loneliness, and 
who never knew the sweetness of these lines of Bobby Burns: 

“ ‘ ’Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair 
In other’s arms breathe out the tender tale 
Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening gale.’ 

You will not remember long, ladies, what a possible dys- 
peptic may have written, when you recall that the masters of 
painting and sculpture gave each angelic form upon canvas 


58 


NORMA LANE 


or in marble the face and figure of a woman; and yet, not 
a mother’s son of us would marry an angel if he could. A 
man wants a woman, tender and true; a woman passionate, 
but pure; a woman warm with rich, red blood. 

“A man with such sweetheart or wife will snap his fingers 
at Solomon with his hundreds of wives, and more hundreds 
of lady acquaintances as he reads in Proverbs: ‘It is better 
to dwell in a corner of the housetop than with a brawling 
woman.’ 

“The man who finds one woman, only one, fairer and 
dearer than all the world beside, who, caring for her tenderly, 
sees her babies and his grow up about them, to honor father 
and mother, that their days may be long upon the earth — 
is a man, who, while yet on earth has had a glimpse of 
Heaven. 

“So much as I have been told of the teachings of this 
Order I am led to say to woman, marry an Elk — he has com- 
mitted himself before his brothers. He has promised to honor 
the sanctity of home. 

“It must have been an Elk that Burns saw with prophetic 
vision when he had an old woman say with wondrous ten- 
derness : 

“ ‘John Anderson my jo John, 

We clam the hill thegither. 

And mony a canty day John 
We’ve had wi one anither; 

Now we maun totter down John, 

But hand in hand we’ll go. 

An sleep thegither at the foot, 

John Anderson my Jo.’ ” 

The doctor sat down with tumultuous applause ringing in 
his ears, and it pleased the old man to note that the ladies 
were first to lead in the demonstrations and last to leave off. 


NORMA LANE 


59 


The toastmaster did not interrupt the congratulations that 
came from every side, but through it all the doctor’s eyes 
sought out a little girl who did not know quite what to do, 
whether to laugh or cry for joy, over the demonstrations he^ 
old friend and physician was receiving. 

When quiet had been restored, Vance said: ‘T voice not 
only the thanks of the ladies, but of each brother present 
for the response to our toast so admirably handled by the 
doctor. We must make him one of us, and use him as occa- 
sion demands. We have with us another guest, a stranger, 
who is here on business, and we will be pleased to hear from 
Mr. Cyrus Flood, of New York.” 

“As a stranger to all of you,” said Mr. Flood, “I take 
pleasure in expressing my thanks for being permitted to share 
with you a most delightful evening. It is all the more inter- 
esting because of the presence of the ladies who have shown 
a gentle forbearance with the conviviality that I am told is 
characteristic of your social events. If I may paraphrase the 
lines quoted by my friend, the toastmaster, I would have 
them read: 

“ ‘Drink, and the boys drink with you, get drunk and 
you’re not alone.’ 

“I may say” — a low hiss came from somewhere at the 
table — he was not sure, but a scowl swept over his face as 
he looked at Neil Dare, standing at the time near where 
Norma was seated. With fierce anger he shouted: “I know 
where that insult comes from.” 

A number of the lodge members were on their feet by 
this time, and loud were the murmurs of disapproval. 

Vance rapped vigorously with the gavel, and quiet reigned 
again. “Brothers, however much he misunderstands us,” 
Vance said with emotion, “he is our guest. He is not the 
only one who has misjudged us — he is not alone in his mis- 
take. Proceed, Mr. Flood, you shall not be interrupted.” 


60 


NORMA LANE 


“You will pardon me, Mr. Vance, but my self-respect pre- 
vents me remaining longer with you,” and Flood abruptly left 
the table. He paused a moment at the door seeking an 
answering signal from Norma, who sat with downcast eyes, 
her face pale and drawn. 

“We have had such an enjoyable evening,” said Mr. 
Vance, “that I regret what has just occurred. Regrets avail 
nothing. My brothers, it is eleven o’clock. You know the 
significance of this hour. It is a moment of tender memories. 
As we forget the darkness of the night watching the rosy 
tints of morn, as we forget the chill of winter drinking the 
sweet breath of spring, so we shall forget what has just 
passed while we recall that sentiment that lives ever in our 
hearts, but which blooms fragrantly at this hour — Our Absent 
Brothers.” 


CHAPTER FIVE. 


YRUS FLOOD paid daily visits to the office of Wil- 
berton Vance. He was careful to go when Vance 
was present. He had no desire to meet Neil 
Dare alone, either in the office or elsewhere. He 
shunned the presence of Dr. Harley quite as 
carefully as he did Neil, and believing his operations in the 
country were unknown to Vance, pretended that he was most 
anxious to enter into a contract to equip the Lake City and 
South Eastern Traction Line, so far as the Company, he 
claimed to represent, could do. When Vance asked him to 
come with some definite proposition he made plausible 
excuses and deferred action until he could hear further from 
headquarters. 

There is little doubt that he could have accomplished 
much more had it not been that he spent more time with 
Norma Lane, or in futile attempts to meet her, than he had 
anticipated. 

That he was infatuated with the young woman was evi- 
dent to all who frequented the Casino. 

At this resort there was, in addition to the usual park 
attractions, a Summer theatre, and Norma, having little to 
do, and money to spend as she wished, was an almost daily 
visitor. 

It was at the Casino that she first met Flood. On her part 
it was accidental, but he, knowing no one who could intro- 
duce him, carefully planned a meeting — or rather watched 
for an opportunity that would give him a reasonable excuse 
for addressing her. 



61 


62 


NORMA LANE 


He was quick to observe that she was not of that class of 
girls eager to make the acquaintance of a stranger who 
appeared to have money. There were many young woman of 
the city who frequented the popular resort, that put them- 
selves in his way, but these did not interest him. It was the 
handsome girl who occasionally glanced at him, in whom he 
was interested. 

Flood spent money freely when the opportunity presented 
itself, and became quite friendly with the manager of the 
Casino. He had a speaking acquaintance with some of the 
ladies and gentlemen belonging to the Opera Comuany which 
had been engaged to give a season of light opera — present- 
ing well known and well worn operatic productions. 

The manager of the Casino, who was a member of the 
Lake City Lodge of Elks, while not acquainted with Norma — 
that is, not possessing a speaking acquaintance — knew the 
history of her family. When Flood asked for an introduc- 
tion to Norma, the manager declined. “I knew her father. 
He was a prominent man, a man highly respected, and Miss 
Lane, while she comes here frequently alone, is a most estim- 
able young lady. I have spoken to her, but always concern- 
ing the attractions or like subject, being simply a matter of 
business. 

‘T assure you I would not have the effrontery to intro- 
duce her to a stranger. It is all right,” he continued, “for 
men to meet and mingle without the formality of an intro- 
duction, but not such as she. Miss Lane is a lady, in the 
fullest sense of the word.” 

“I wish to say,” replied Flood, “that while I would like 
to meet the young woman, I consider your course most hon- 
orable. I thank you heartily for the explanation you have 
given. My intentions are as honorable as my desire is 
earnest. Few men can look with indifference upon a young 
woman as handsome as she.” 


NORMA LANE 


63 


Nothing more was said by either of the men at that time, 
but Flood sought the companionship of a dissolute young man 
who had once been considered acceptable among ladies and 
gentlemen. The young man — Mark Singleton — had for- 
feited all right to recognition by those who cared to be con- 
sidered respectable. His widowed mother, once comfortably 
well to do, was now nearing life’s end a broken hearted 
woman, who had spent all to keep her son from the State 
prison. 

When Mark Singleton had spent all his money, and all 
that he could get from his mother, he became one of those 
indescribable creatures who lived upon the uncertain wages 
of a woman lost to all sense of shame. 

As soon as Flood learned Singleton’s history he began to 
put himself in the way of the young man, but never at any 
time when Norma might see him, for he assumed that she 
must know something about him. 

It must be said for Norma that she never frequented the 
Casino at night unless accompanied by a friend. Singleton 
and Flood became acquainted in that easy manner which men 
about town acquire. Singleton, with money, was not consid- 
ered a nuisance at the saloons of Lake City, but Singleton, 
penniless, was. It was on one of those penniless occasions 
that Flood became his “Angel,” as Singleton was wont to 
regard him. The term, as is generally known, is applied 
to the individual who furnishes the funds to keep a losing 
theatrical attraction on the road, and Singleton had played 
his part in a dissolute life drama so strongly that his season 
had closed early. 

One evening, and this was a week or more before the 
events already narrated, when Vance and Flood first met. 
Flood followed the young man and, observing that he had 
been refused drinks at the more reputable places, kept Mark 


64 


NORMA LANE 


in sight, realizing that an opportunity would offer when he 
could play the Samaritan act. 

He had formed a plan to appear in the light of a hero to 
Norma Lane if he could get Singleton to enact the role of 
villain. It was an old and threadbare plot, but it had worked 
so often, it surely would again. 

Singleton had drifted into a place where there was little 
pretense of appealing to the better class of men who drink. 
Flood followed unobserved, and pausing at the door, listened 
to what occurred. He could only surmise what Singleton 
had said, for the request was made in low tones. The man 
behind the bar simply shook his head. 

“Bill,” said Singleton in sharp tones, “I used to loan you 
ten at a time.” 

“You got it back, didn’t you?” 

“I am not at all certain that I did, but even if that is true 
it’s mighty small in you refusing me tonight.” 

“You haven’t any tens about you now, have you?” 

“If I had you’d have met me with a smile instead of a 
scowl.” 

“Good night, Mark.” 

“Oh, you go ” 

Flood, who had heard it all, came in quite unconcerned. 
He spoke pleasantly to Singleton: “Won’t you join me?” 

“Thanks — some other time — I was just going ” 

“What will you have?” asked the man behind the bar. 
To have them turn away was like taking money from the till. 

Flood left the change lying upon the bar as he led the 
conversation upon sporting themes until their glasses were 
empty, when he again ordered. 

He observed that the young fellow seemed anxious to get 
away, and as he had something for Mark to do, was desir- 
ous of finding a place where there was more privacy. 


NORMA LANE 


65 


“I’m sort of glad I’ve met you,” said Mark, “for I am short 
tonight. I’ve spent many a good dollar with that fellow 
back there and tonight I asked him to set them up, but he 
turned me down cold. I’ll own up that I wanted a drink, 
but I hated to see you spend your money with Bill.” 

“That is all right, but let us go where we can talk over 
a business proposition. Are you fairly well acquainted in 
this City?” 

“I know the place as well as any one, but I’m not fixed 
to keep up my end tonight.” 

“That is all right. We will go somewhere and have lunch 
together. You may be able to help me,” Flood said. 

“Well, I’ve got more time than anything else,” was the 
reply. 

Mark had not found so generous a friend for many 
months, and when Flood asked him if he knew Wilberton 
Vance, Mark informed him that while they were not chums 
he knew the gentleman by sight. 

“This town is not on to my game,” said Flood, when they 
had dined, “and I am not ready to let you in, but if you have 
the time, and keep a level head and a close mouth, there will 
be something in it for you.” 

“I’m your man for any thing unless it is something that 
would send me over.” 

“Nothing of that kind, I assure you. I am not looking 
for trouble, either,” Flood replied. “I asked you,” Flood con- 
tinued, “if you knew Mr. Vance. I will explain this much to 
you. Vance is in my way. He is likely to block my game. 
This game is business — straight business. What I would 
like to have you do is to keep an eye upon him. When he 
leaves town, follow him. Do not let him know you are fol- 
lowing him. If you find him talking to a farmer, either in the 
city here or elsewhere, find out if possible what they were 
talking about, and report to me.” 


66 


NORMA LANE 


“Detective work, ain’t it?” and Mark warmed to the idea 
readily. 

“It is along that line.” 

“I am your man.” 

“Meet me at the Grand Central Hotel tomorrow morn- 
ing at 9 o’clock. I will give you full instructions and expense 
money. We will say good night here,” continued Flood, “as 
it is best that what we do shall be done as secretly as pos- 
sible.” 

“Good night, Mr. ” 

“Flood is my name. Good night.” 

At the conference on the following morning Flood told 
Singleton that if he found that Vance would remain in his 
office that day, he should meet him at the Casino. “While 
this is not your business, yet. I’ll pay you quite as liberally if 
you aid me in a little matter. This, of course, is strictly 
between ourselves. Do you know a young lady by the name 
of Lane, who is often at the Casino?” 

“I used to know her very well, but that was before I got 
to going the pace. She don’t recognize me now.” 

“I wish to meet the lady,” said Flood. 

“An introduction from me would kill you dead with her.” 

“That may be, but how would this do?” and Flood out- 
lined his plan. 

“With a few drinks in me, I could do it,” replied Singleton. 

“Then meet me at Casino tomorrow afternoon.” 

When Mark Singleton left the hotel he was in possession 
of more money than he had been able to call his own for 
many weeks. His first move was to bolster up his courage 
for the contemptible part he was to play. He visited two or 
three places where his former associates, who had been 
forced to give him the cut direct, were wont to gather. 

Some of these were present on this occasion, and Mark 
noted that they suddenly became so interested in a dis- 


NORMA LANE 


67 


cussion that he was not observed. Quite well was he aware 
that this interest was assumed, and carelessly tossing a bill 
upon the bar, called for a “Martini." Carefully he counted 
the change. 

“You have a small tab against me. It has stood a long 
time — I want to pay it." 

“You don’t owe anything here," was the reply. The pro- 
prietor had served the drink. He believed the small sum 
Mark Singleton owed him was worth more on the tab then 
in the cash drawer. “You are all right, Mark; you are 
square with me." 

“I am now," Mark said as he left a half dollar upon the 
bar. “I owed you forty cents — have one on me," and he 
turned away without a glance at his former associates. He 
then went to the saloon where Flood had first met him. “I 
want the amount of that ‘tab’ you have against me." 

“What’s the use?" 

“I came here for the purpose of paying it, you slob, but 
if you don’t want it, all right." 

“It’s one fifty." 

“One hundred and fifty dollars?" 

“No, one hundred and fifty cents. I hope you don’t take 
me for a ‘chump’ as well as a ‘slob,’ as you called me. Me 
let you git in for that much money? I hope not." 

“There is your money." 

“Have a drink?" asked the saloon man when he had 
found the account. 

“I want the slip," replied Mark. 

“Cert. Have a drink, I say?" 

“No." 

“Made a touch, didn’t you?" 

“Yes, and I’ll make another one of these days — I’ll touch 
that blooming nose of yours. I’ll tell the Anti-Saloon League 


68 


NORMA LANE 


about you, ‘Bill,’ they’ll hire you for a warning to everybody 
that drinks.” 

‘‘Good-bye, Mark. It’s like parting with a mother-in-law 
to see you go,” and the saloonist smiled at his attempt at 
wit. 

‘‘Say, Bill, I’ll just buy one on that,” and their glasses 
clinked. 

Having settled his bar bills, Mark felt that he was once 
more a man, and when he met Flood at two o’clock that 
afternoon he said: ‘‘I’m all ‘lit up,’ now give out the pro- 
gram.” 

‘‘I have reason to think that the lady will be here soon. 
If she is alone, speak to her — follow her — make yourself as 
‘fresh’ as possible, but, of course, you will not use insulting 
language. When things get interesting I’ll stroll by, paying 
no attention whatever until you say, ‘ain’t you going to kiss 
me, dear?’ Then I’ll come into the game.” 

‘‘Great — a hero from Hoboken.” 

‘‘No, from Manhattan,” and Flood laughed. 

‘‘Yes, and I’ll take four ‘Manhattans’ on you when it’s 
over. You don’t mean to smash me on the jaw, do you?” 

‘‘Not at all. I’ll rush in and grab you by the coat collar 
and fling you aside, and as you stagger back I’ll call out: 
‘What does this mean, dastard?’ ” 

‘‘That is right — don’t forget to call me dastard — that 
always gets a hand in melodrama,” Mark replied. 

‘‘Then you retreat a few steps,” Flood continued, ‘‘and 
then turn on me and say: ‘I’ll even this up with you, my 
fine fellow’ ” 

‘‘Yes, that’s the gag. I’d almost forgotten it — ‘my fine 
fellow’ — and then what?” 

‘‘Then go and leave the rest to me. Get out of sight 
quick — there she comes now,” and Mark strolled down the 
walk to meet Norma. 


CHAPTER SIX. 


ERY few of the lodge members had heard of Cyrus 
Flood until he was introduced at the Social Ses- 
sion. While his remarks were intended to be 
humorous, they were not so received. He had 
voiced an idea in the minds of those who know 
little of the underlying principles of the Order — its beau- 
tiful charity and its belief in the brotherhood of man; and 
in presenting this idea he had anticipated laughter and 
applause, but instead he had been greeted with silence 
broken by a sibilant hiss. His surprise was great, his chagrin 
unmeasured. 

Even though it was late he sought Mark Singleton, know- 
ing quite well where he might be found. 

Singleton was not well pleased with the part he had been 
induced to play, that gave opportunity for Flood to make the 
acquaintance of Norma Lane. 

He played the part as outlined, and when Flood found him 
that night after the Elks’ Social, he found Mark sober. Mark 
had spent the evening at a Cafe which boasted of an aristo- 
cratic patronage. Slowly he sipped a cooling draught that did 
not heat his brain. Men whom he knew well came into the 
place, but gave no sign of recognition. He recalled that 
Flood was an invited guest of a Society that had black-balled 
him. He grew bitter as he recalled how he played the 
infamous role assigned him. It was only two weeks since he 
had heard Norma Lane say: “I remember when I used to 
think you were a gentleman, Mark Singleton.” Only two 
weeks and it had seemed months — months since he had 

69 


V 


70 


NORMA LANE 


leered at the young woman, who once knew him and respected 
him. 

How well he remembered every word she said, how she 
had shamed him until he felt tempted to run and give Flood 
no chance for his mock heroics. 

When sober he felt a deeper sense of humiliation. Mem- 
ory was busy that night, and all his shameful past rose up 
before him. 

He remembered with unmeasured shame how a messenger 
boy with a telegram for the manager passed by when he had 
said as planned: “Won’t you kiss me, dear?” And Norma 
had answered: “Coward, and drunkard, is it possible you 
have come to this?” 

Vividly he recalled how she told the boy, “Get the officer 
— tell the manager I want him,” and how he waited as if 
some invisible power held him fast to earth until Flood came, 
until Flood hurled him aside, crying out as he had rehearsed: 
“Dastard, what do you mean?” 

“He remembered that Flood and the girl he once knew 
walked away together while he was forced to make a hurried 
escape from the grounds or be arrested. 

An arrest on such a charge meant the workhouse. He 
remembered that even in his sotted revels during the week 
that followed. He could not forget the disgraceful part he 
had been called upon to play. Old and silly as the plot was, 
it seemed to have answered the purpose intended. Flood and 
Norma were together almost daily. 

He had arrived at the conclusion that it would be best 
to go to Wilberton Vance, confess his part in the plot and beg 
for forgiveness. Then it was that Flood made his appear- 
ance. Singleton saw that he was greatly agitated, but he 
was in no mood to ask questions. 

“I have work for you tomorrow.” Flood’s manner was 


NORMA LANE 


71 


unusually dictatorial. He had been suave and gracious here- 
tofore. 

“It must be something different from the last job I did 
for you.” 

“That is all right — I paid you for it. It certainly did 
not undermine your reputation here, as I get it.” 

“I don’t care to discuss it farther. What do you want 
now?” 

“I will give you a list of names of stockholders in the 
Interurban Railway. I want you to see each one of them. 
Tell them the road is going to the devil unless the manage- 
ment is changed at once.” 

“That is your real game, is it?” 

“That is what I am here for. There are thousands of 
dollars back of me where there are dollars back of Vance.” 

“The girl business was a side issue, hey?” 

“A mere episode — but we will not discuss the girl ques- 
tion — that is a closed incident.” 

“When I see these men whose names are on that list and 
tell them your story, then what?” 

“Make them talk — then come to me with everything they 
say — omit nothing.” 

“Suppose they ask what I will give for their stock?” 

“Offer them forty cents on every dollar paid in, if you 
are pressed, but that is not what I’m after. Tell each man 
to let no one know that you have spoken to him. That to 
get his money back he must say nothing, but act when you 
give the word. We must prevail on some of these men to 
ask for injunction proceedings. We must get the road in the 
Courts. That means delay. That means ruin to Wilberton 
Vance. That means that my Company will get control of the 
road,” said Flood vehemently. 

“What does it mean for Mark Singleton?” 

“It means money, of course.” 


72 


NORMA LANE 


“When will I see the color of some of it?” 

“You have not been going hungry lately, have you?” 

Flood saw that Singleton was in an unusual mood. He 
observed that the man usually obsequious was so no longer, 
and being a student of human nature, changed his tone. 
“Come to me in the morning,” he said, “there will be money 
for you, and much more of it when we win.” 

Flood was waiting for Mark in the office of the hotel. He 
gave the young man an envelope — a large, well filled enve- 
lope. “You can count that later, use it freely if it becomes 
necessary. Keep a memorandum of all you spend upon 
these men. What you spend upon yourself is no concern of 
mine. If you find any of them inclined to conviviality, take 
care of them. Don’t be afraid to spend the money. Try and 
get them to come to the city. Tell them you will give them 
a good time. Perhaps it would be well to go to a store and 
buy a new suit of clothes — there are some swell looking out- 
fits I have noticed. When you have puchased what you need, 
get the fastest team money can secure at a livery and go to 
Carbuncle, the first town beyond Eden. You need not stop 
in Eden. I am looking after things in that village.” 

As has been said, few of the Elk friends of Wilberton 
Vance had heard of Flood until he appeared at the Social. 
Then they began to make inquiries. Adroit usually, but all 
that could be learned was that he registered from New York 
City, had plenty money to spend, occasionally hiring a con- 
veyance and be away for a day or two. Usually he was to 
be found at the Casino and generally in the company of 
Norma Lane. They found, also, that lately he had been seen 
frequently at night with Mark Singleton, and that usually 
impecunious individual was spending money as in former 
days, when he was scattering his inheritance. 

While nothing was known concerning the character of 
Flood, it was a matter of regret that the daughter of their 


NORMA LANE 


73 


Past Exalted Ruler should so often be seen in the company 
of this stranger. Harold Brady had told a few intimate 
friends what had happened at Vance’s office the day before 
the Social. The story spread and grew no less in its travels 
and ere long it came to Neil’s attention that Norma was 
being talked about. Neil Dare’s close friends hoped that he 
would pay no further attention to her, but the majority being 
so loyal to the memory of the father proposed to keep close 
watch upon the stranger and upon the girl, that no harm 
should come to her. 

That Norma Lane had been indiscreet there was no ques- 
tion. Even the help about the Casino gossiped, and hinted 
that all was not right. The person of a woman may to an 
extent be guarded from harm, but Omnipotence can scarcely 
shield the reputation of one who may be careless of her con- 
duct, even though her character be spotless. 

The evening of that day — the day Mark left town to do 
the work outlined by Flood — the day after the Social, Dr. 
Harley was invited to the Club to meet a few of the members. 
He had been treated so generously by the boys at the banquet 
that he could not refuse, and at the hour named was again 
the recipient of flattering comment. 

“You do me too much honor, gentlemen. It was little I 
did. I should be happy to do much more for such delightful 
friends as you have proved yourselves to be. When one sees 
his shadow lengthen in his afternoon he feels an unusual 
sense of happiness and security in the friendship of whole- 
some young men. If circumstances were different I should 
like to be one of you — that is, if you would accept one of 
my years.” 

“One of your years?” John Adams Drake, a rich young 
lawyer, a member of an old and aristocratic family, laid his 
hand affectionately upon the shoulder of the veteran as he 
spoke: “The Elks look not at years, it is the man we care 


'4 


NORMA LANE 


for. You will understand that more fully one of these days, 
but we did not ask you to meet us for purposes of mutual 
felicitation. We have heard rumors today that are disturbing, 
and we have reason to believe that you can enlighten us if 
you are free to do so.” 

“What is it, gentlemen? 1 am at your service,” replied 
the doctor. 

“This man Flood, whose remarks were so ill timed last 
night — we have heard that he is here to work injury to 
Wilberton Vance.” 

“Mr. Vance has been a good friend to me, and my belief 
is that there are none present who are not friends of his? Am 
I right?” 

“Most assuredly,” replied Mr. Drake. 

“Then I shall withhold no information that I possess. 
Vance is the only man who has met this fellow Flood — at 
least so far as I know — who has any confidence in him 
whatever. A clever man is Mr. Vance in business matters, 
and yet he will not believe that Flood is a business enemy. 
There can be no personal feeling, but, as the old saying goes, 
‘Corporations have no souls.’ 

“I have proof sufficient — for me at least — that Flood 
is an agent of a corporation or syndicate that is conducting 
an underhand, if not disreputable, effort to secure control of 
our Interurban Railway. 

“1 know not how long Flood has been here; we could 
learn that, of course, by consulting the register at the hotel, 
but I know he has been here long enough to attempt to cor- 
rupt the farmers, at least a portion of them, along the line 
of the road. I have tried to make that clear to Vance, but he 
is inclined to make light of it. Flood pretends that he is the 
agent of the Great Northern Electric Company, with head- 
quarters in Boston, while he claims New York as his home. 
One of my old friends living near Eden, Abraham Thomas, 


NORMA LANE 


75 


by name, has been approached by this man, who said to 
Thomas that he came here to equip the road, but that he 
found things in a bad way financially. My friend Abe is a 
deacon in the church and I received a lecture, and justly, too, 
for expressions usually heard in prayer meeting, but with 
more reverent intentions. I told Abe that the road was all 
right and that Vance was all right. We had some words in 
Vance’s office, and Flood alluded to me as an ‘impossible old 
person.’ I failed to emulate the meekness of Moses in my 
reply. Gentlemen, that is about all 1 know of Flood so far 
as Vance’s affairs are concerned.” 

“You have confirmed the rumors that have reached us,” 
replied Drake. “Do you think, doctor,” he continued, “that 
Flood is not an agent of this Electric Company?” 

“Of course, surmise is not proof, but I am certain that it 
is simply a blind to get information that he could not other- 
wise secure.” 

“I am quite certain you are right, and now something 
must be done. We are all interested in the road, and all are 
friends of Vance. If we could secure, by honorable means, 
a letter or even an envelope with the usual business card 
upon it, we would run this matter down.” 

“Drake, I’ll get that for you — don’t ask me how, or ask 
me anything about it,” said Will Hall, a young man of pleas- 
ing address, and a favorite of all the ladies of his acquaint- 
ance. 

“Be careful of Uncle Sam,” advised Drake. 

“I’ll violate no law, but I’ll get it,” replied the young man. 

“Get it, if possible. I’m going East in a few days. I will 
make it my business to look up this man’s business associates 
if we can get a clue to them.” 

“And, if possible, Mr. Drake, find out if he is married,” 
said the doctor impressively. 

“May I ask why, doctor?” 


76 


NORMA LANE 


“I am not violating a confidence, but a friend of mine — 
an exceptionable young man — a brother in your Order, had 
every reason to believe that in the near future Norma Lane 
would have been his wife. She met this fellow — I saw them 
together — and it hurt me worse than this wound ever did,” 
and the doctor touched the livid scar. “It hurt me because I 
had hoped to see her Neil Dare’s wife. It hurt me because 
her grandfather carried me from the field of battle and saved 
my life. Vance told him that she was as sacred as his own 
flesh and blood, and I told him that I was on guard.” 

“We are with you, doctor” — “with you,” “with you,” ex- 
claimed the group. 

“Thank you, gentlmen, ‘The Three Guardsmen’ again, ‘One 
for all and all for one.’ ” 


CHAPTER SEVEN. 


WO days later John Adams Drake was on his way 
East. In addition to the business which required 
his presence in New York, he proposed to inves- 
tigate the Overland Syndicate. Will Hall had 
succeeded; just how, he did not explain, and 
Drake asked no questions. It was surmised, however, that a 
letter, carelessly thrown aside, revealed all that was needed 
to put the young attorney on a scent that would cause the 
Overland Syndicate to send another agent to Lake City. In 
the mean time, Vance would be backed by sufficient capital to 
make failure impossible. 

Before leaving for the East, Drake wrote Mr. Vance as 
follows: “You will pardon what may seem an officious act 
on my part, but if I succeed, it may be greatly to your ad- 
vantage. A number of your friends at the Club were dis- 
cussing the presence of one Cyrus Flood, in this city. I have 
information that leads me to believe that he is not an agent 
of the firm he pretends to represent. 

“Business calls me East. I will be in New York and 
probably Boston. 

“While my trip is occasioned by my own affairs, I will 
have time to investigate the man who is now working to drive 
you out of the management of the Lake City & South East- 
ern. Encourage Flood to believe that you are ignorant of 
his plans. Do not hint to him that you suspicion he is not the 
agent of an Electric Company. 



77 


78 


NORMA LANE 


“This has been discussed by your friends in and out of 
the lodge, and you must pardon our presumption for this 
seeming attempt at meddling in your affairs. 

“Very truly, your friend and brother, 

“John Adams Drake.’' 

When Vance received this letter he was inclined at first to 
resent the action of these friends, but decided to call Dr. 
Harley, and see if he had a hand in it. When the doctor 
came Vance gave him the letter to read. 

“They have acted more promptly than I anticipated,” he 
said. 

“Then you had something to do with it?” 

“Very little, I assure you. Permit me to say that I knew 
Drake was going to New York. I made the suggestion that if 
there was any way to get Flood’s New York address, we might 
be able to learn something to our advantage. I say our, 
because you seem to have faith in Flood, and as was said at 
the Club the other night, you were the only man who had met 
the fellow, and had confidence in him. We were all of the 
opinion that he was the unscrupulous tool of an unscrupulous 
crew of financial pirates.” 

“You never lack words to make your meaning clear, 
doctor.” 

“I hope not, and furthermore, I hope it will be some time 
before language fails me entirely.” 

“My hope is intermingled with a prayer that your days 
may be long in the land you helped preserve.” 

“And upon a small portion of which I pay taxes, when 
you loan me the money.” 

We will not discuss the money part of the proposition — 
kindly tell me what this means?” 

“I don’t know what they have learned,” the doctor said 
after a pause. “I know,” he continued, “that Drake was 
wishing he had even an envelope with the usual business card 


NORMA LANE 


79 


upon it. A young man who was present — I need not name 
him — promised that the information would be forthcoming. 
Evidently he made good his promise and Drake is in pos- 
session of the same. I wish to emphasize what the letter says, 
that you pretend not to suspicion Flood. Give him all the 
rope he wants, he will wind himself up in it, together with a 
little assistance on our part.” 

“I suppose I should be grateful, but it makes me look like 
a two-year-old child.” 

“Nothing of the kind, Vance, nothing of the kind. It 
simply shows that you are less suspicious than we, and there- 
fore, a more honorable man.’ 

“That is very clever, but when shall I apply for a guar- 
dian ?” 

“Vance, I’ve been trying to break myself of swearing 
lately, but you’ll start me again if you keep on. I’d counted 
on saying ‘Popocataptl’ when I wanted to allude to the sul- 
phurous settlement.” 

“Why Popocataptl?” asked Vance. 

“It was said to be a volcano when I went to school — I 
don’t know what it is doing now — sort of warm in spots, I 
presume.” 

“That is a kind of Homeopathic dose.” 

“And then, instead of blurting out something that would 
give my old friend Abe Thomas the shivers. I’d say ‘By Heck,’ 
or something equally startling.” 

“We are disgressing, doctor. And now, seriously, while 
I believe I am able to cope with Flood, I appreciate the senti- 
ment that calls forth these efforts.” 

“I am glad you do. You paid little attention to what I 
told you about Flood’s visit to Abe Thomas. If he attempted 
to make trouble there and failed, it does not mean that he 


80 


NORMA LANE 


will fail everywhere. I know men who have stock in the 
road that would have done Judas’ job for half the money.” 

“That is putting it pretty strong, Doctor.” 

“It looks that way, but some of those old fellows will put 
a half dollar upon the mantle piece and fall down and wor- 
ship it.” 

“Hyperbole is your long suit, my old friend.” 

“I am going to follow that fellow. Flood, wherever he 
goes and undo his work; see if I don’t.” 

“I am very grateful, doctor. Perhaps you are right. I 
may have been too indifferent, but I shall keep watch now. 
By the way, I think your plan to follow Flood is a good one. 
Let me give you a cheque to cover expenses ” 

“Cover — Popocataptl,” he yelled, “accept money from 
you, and I am still in your debt. Why — Jehoiakim, Son of 
Josiah, but you’ll get me riled, yet.” 

“Your new style of profanity is picturesque, but you prob- 
ably mean the same old cuss words.” 

“I wonder if I do? I think not, though; I’m getting old 
enough to be a shining example to the community. I am 
going to prowl around Eden and vicinity the rest of the day, 
and it is time I was going.” 

While the doctor was looking at his watch and comparing 
the time with the large, old-fashioned clock in the office, 
Vance slipped a folded bill in his vest pocket. 

The doctor made his first call at Abe Thomas’ and learned 
that Flood had visited three of his neighbors and had 
them thoroughly frightened. They decided it would be wise 
to consult Lawyer Pedrick, and they were going to town the 
next day. 

“Give me their names; I’ll see them before I go home. 

That indescribable descendant of Nebuchadnezzar ” The 

doctor paused as he observed Thomas look around in a 
startled manner. 


NORMA LANE 


81 


“You needn’t look for Sarah Ann,” he said, “she can take 
all my cuss words to Sunday School with her and get a nice 
little picture card for a prize.” 

They talked over the situation and decided that Thomas 
would assist in getting the men to visit Vance before they 
consulted Attorney Pedrick. 

While the doctor was calming the disturbed farmers in the 
neighborhood of Eden, Mark Singleton was doing his full 
share of damage. He did not pretend to have anything to do 
with the road, as Flood had done. As is known. Flood pre- 
tended to be interested in equipping the road, but feared that 
conditions were not as he would like to see them. It was an 
unsafe venture as it stood at present, he explained, and there- 
by brought panic to the minds of several who had invested 
liberally, and who had paid part of the amount subscribed. 
It was understood that more money was expected when the 
road was in a certain degree of completion. 

Singleton was going over his territory in the guise of a 
commission merchant who was looking up the possibilities in 
his line. He told the men whose names were on his list that 
he would do certain things to their advantage if the road 
should pass into other hands. He intimated that Vance was 
about swamped and that a majority of the stockholders would 
lose all they had invested. 

His story created no little consternation and there seemed 
to be a possibility that a general movement against Vance 
would be made at once. Doubtless there would have been 
had it not been for Isaac Leedy. Dr. Harley and Leedy had 
been in the same Company in the war, and whether correct 
or not, Leedy was wont to tell a story of daring on the part 
of Harley, that saved, not only himself, but others from cap- 
ture or death. The simple word of Dr. Harley was worth 
more than a sheaf of sworn affidavits from strangers. 


82 


NORMA LANE 


Mark had been progressing admirably until he met Isaac. 
The farmer was driving a spirited team that did not seem 
to need the big blacksnake whip he carried in his hand, when 
Mark drove in at the open gate of the barn yard. 

“You have a fine farm here, Mr. Leedy.” 

“I think pretty well of it,” the farmer replied. 

“It is almost too bad to have it cut up by that Interurban 
Railroad, if it goes down as I am afraid it will — that is, if 
an Eastern Syndicate does not take it off Vance’s hands.” 

“Is that so?” asked the farmer. “You know Vance, do 
you?” 

“Yes, I live in Lake City. I have just gone into the com- 
mission business, and I thought I would like to see this fine 
country and arrange to take a deal of your produce if you get 
it to town.” 

“What makes you think the road won’t go through?” 

“It is generally understood that Vance is on his last legs. 
If he accepts the offer of the Syndicate, it means that a lot 
of the stockholders will be ‘holding the bag,’ as the saying 
is.” 

“That certainly is news. I met an old fellow from up 
there the other day that told a different story.” 

“Of course I don’t know who told you, and he may mean 
all right, but he’s mistaken ; however, it is no affair of mine,” 
said Mark as he sprang out of the carriage. 

“Do you happen to know Dr. Harley?” Leedy asked. 

“I know his reputation.” 

“Pretty good, ain’t it?” 

“His reputation is a joke.” 

“How’s that?” 

“In the first place, he pretends to be a doctor, and in the 
second place he was never known to tell the truth more than 
twice in his life.” Mark had not observed the gathering 
frown, or the nervous twitching of the farmer’s lips. 


NORMA LANE 


83 


“Did the old doc ever tell you that you was liable to fall 
heir to something you didn’t want?” 

“No. I would not place more reliance in him as a for- 
tune teller than as a physician.” 

“I’m sorry he didn’t, for you could have testified that he 
told the truth once. 

“What do you mean?” asked Mark, sharply. 

“I was just thinking if I wasn’t a church member I’d like 
to see if my muscles would work yet like they used to. I 
think you’re the all-firedest cheap sort of a liar that ever come 
on my farm. I’ll give you a minute and a half to git out of 
here. You ain’t fit to get down on your belly and lick Doc. 
John’s boots.” 

“Look here, old fellow, this may be your farm and all 
that, but you called me a liar, and I’ll ” 

“What will you do? What will you do?” and each time 
he asked the question he brought the big black whip down 
across Mark’s shoulders. 

“Stop, stop, you’ve assaulted me, sir.” 

“I know it, I assaulted you and you insulted me.” 

“How did I insult you?” 

“By lying and abusing the best man that ever walked over 
the Good Lord’s footstool. I’m trying my best to be a Chris- 
tian, but you got me agitated. If you called me all the names 
you could dig out of your ornery imagination I’d a just snick- 
ered, but when you begin on old Doc John, it’s different.” 

“If you are through with me. I’ll move on,” said Mark 
as he sprang hurriedly in his conveyance. 

“I’m through with you, praise the Lord,” replied Leedy. 

“I’m not through with you, though,” cried Mark as he 
drove away. 

“Stop, come back and let us get through with it like men. 
Let us settle it all here and now. I’m old enough to be your 
dad, but I’m offerin’ praise and thanksgiving this minute that 


84 


NORMA LANE 


I’m not. I’ll lay down the whip. If you can lick me with 
bare fists I’ll take it without a whimper. There’ll be no law 
suit when it’s over as far as I’m concerned. I’ll just go and 
resign as trustee of the Church.” 

“Resign, you old fool,” cried Mark. 

“Tut, tut, don’t you know the Good Book says, ‘Whosoever 
calleth his brother a fool is in danger of hell fire.’ That is 
about the only way I could say hell and be consistent,” mused 
the farmer^ as he watched Mark drive away. 


CHAPTER EIGHT. 


S DRAKE was nearing the great City a gentleman 
entered the car, and as every seat in the Pullman 
was occupied, asked permission to share that 
which Drake had sole possession of. Naturally 
the courteous request was complied with. The 
young man, for the new arrival was apparently a man about 
Drake’s age, began in a casual manner to discuss the ap- 
proaching campaign and its effect upon the business interests 
of the country. After some discussion, in which there was 
little disagreement, and each had learned the occupation to 
which they were devoting their time and attention, Drake 
remarked: “If I understood you correctly, you are connected 
with a manufactury that equips Electric railroads. Urban 
and Interurban ?’’ 

“Yes, our establishment is one of the most complete, and 
one of the largest in the country. Naturally,” continued the 
stranger, “we are particularly interested in the coming elec- 
tion.” 

“Politics interests me less, personally, than most men in 
my profession. Many men in my line devote more time to 
politics than to law, and many a good lawyer is spoiled to 
make an indifferent politician,” said Drake, good humoredly. 

“Ohio demonstrated not many years ago that a capitalist, 
a man of affairs, an up and up business man, could make a 
great politician,” was the reply. 

“Oh, yes, but Ohio is wont to lay claim to all kinds of 
greatness. Her specialty for many years now has been to 


A 


85 


86 


NORMA LANE 


impress upon other states the futility of bothering with Na- 
tional affairs — the idea is, just leave it to Ohio.” 

“Perhaps it wouldn’t be a bad idea,” laughingly replied 
the stranger. 

“Just now I’m more interested in a man engaged in your 
line of business, than I am in politicians,” replied Drake. 

“Yes? As I am fairly familiar with all work in my line, 
and I could be of any service to you, I beg you may be free 
to ask me.” 

“You may have heard of Lake City. We think it should 
have a very conspicuous place on the map, especially now, 
that we have almost completed an Interurban line of rail- 
way, occupied by no line of railway, steam or trolley,” said 
Drake. 

“It is somewhat strange that we have not heard of it. 
The Great Northern Electric Company is usually next, as the 
saying is, to all projects of that kind,” replied the stranger. 

“The Great Northern, did you say?” Drake’s manner indi- 
cated more than a mere idle question. 

“My card will explain my position in the Great Northern 
Company.” 

Drake read: “Foxhall Standhope, Asst. Secretary, Great 
Northern Electric Company, New York and Boston.” 

“This is not only peculiar, but somewhat interesting,” 
said the attorney, when he had placed the card in his pocket. 
“It is, at least, a part of my business in New York to find out 
all I can about a man who claims to represent your Company, 
and who is now in Lake City.” 

“Can you give me his name?” 

“Yes, he calls himself Cyrus Flood.” 

“I cannot understand it. I am familiar with the names of 
all connected with our establishment, holding an important 
position, such as you must realize that to be,” replied Stan- 
hope. 


NORMA LANE 


87 


“I am not at all surprised that you have never heard of 
Cyrus Flood. 1 possess information that leads me to believe 
that he represents the Overland Syndicate of New York. It 
is a true saying ‘that corporations have no souls,’ but this one 
has little sense of honor, as well. Of course the powerful 
capitalist preys upon the weaker, but, in this particular case 
the methods used are so contemptible that without consulting 
the man at the head of the enterprise, Wilberton Vance, my 
personal friend, I have taken it upon myself to investigate 
this man Flood. He came to Lake City, pretending to repre- 
sent the Great Northern Electric Company, and while he 
has partly succeeded in making Vance believe he is what he 
represents himself to be, I have information that forces me 
to conclude that he is connected with an unscrupulous set of 
fellows possessing great capital, doubtless, under the name 
of the Overland Syndicate.” 

“And what is this Syndicate attempting to do?” asked 
Standhope. 

Drake then explained what has already been told, and 
how some of the country stockholders became alarmed be- 
cause of the reports Flood was circulating. 

Standhope then announced that he would communicate 
with headquarters in relation to Flood, and if Drake thought 
it wise he would go to Lake City at once and if everything 
was satisfactory take up the matter of equipping the route. 

“I am of the opinion that it would be an excellent move. 
Your presence there will unmask Flood, and if I succeed in 
another line of investigation the happiness, possibly the 
honor, of an estimable young woman may be the result of it. 
I earnestly hope that I may meet you in our little city and 
together rid Lake City of the presence of Cyrus Flood,” said 
Drake. 

“If nothing prevents I will start for your city tomorrow,” 
was the reply. 


88 


NORMA LANE 


The incidental meeting of Mr. Standhope seemed to Drake 
a harbinger of good luck. If he could succeed in finding 
the person he had in mind, the troubles of Wilberton Vance, 
so far as Flood was concerned, would be at an end. The 
reputation of an orphan was at stake. “Was it possible,” he 
thought, “that she might already be his victim?” 

When Drake had registered at the palatial hotel, where 
he was accustomed to stop when in New York, he went at 
once to the room assigned, where he made a copy of a tom 
letter he had brought with him. It was not difficult to find 
the street and number. The house in front of which the cab 
stopped was of the shabby genteel order. The street as well 
as the house had seen better days. 

In answer to his vigorous ring, a woman whose tawdry 
dress seemed in perfect keeping with the place, came with 
slip-shod step to the door. 

“I wish to speak with Mrs. Flood,” he said. 

“I’ll see if she is in,” was the reply. 

He was ushered into the reception hall, as the woman was 
pleased to term it, and soon a young woman on whose face 
there were lines that only trouble wrought made her appear- 
ance. 

“Is this Mrs. Cyrus Flood?” he asked. 

“I am Mrs. Flood, so called. In reality I am Mrs. Kennedy 
Woodward, at least that is the name my husband bore when 
we were married.” 

“May I ask if Flood is an alias?” 

“Are you a detective?” 

“I am not — I am an attorney.” 

“What does he want of me now? Has he not brought me 
sorrow enough without sending a lawyer to bring additional 
trouble?” 

Drake realized that she believed him an emissary of the 
man she called husband, and for the present it might be well 


NORMA LANE 


89 


that she should not be enlightened, unless she put the ques- 
tion to him directly. He would not misrepresent matters — 
he could not afford to lie — therefore, he said: “Perhaps it 
would be well to hear your story. I pledge you my honor as 
a man to take no advantage of any statement you may make 
to do you injury. I am aware of his plans and purposes, and 
it might be well, at least for you, to tell me all.” 

“I will tell you. You gave me your word of honor as a 
man, and I will trust you, even if you are his attorney. I will 
say further, there is little more that you can do than he has 
already done to make my life a wreck, even if you wished,” 
she replied. 

“There is no question then that there was a marriage cere- 
mony?” 

“Does he try to deny that?” 

“Not to me, at least.” Drake began to feel that duplicity 
was not to his liking, even though he was seeking to save 
the honor of a daughter of an Elk. “You must know, how- 
ever, that there is another woman in the case.” 

“I am well aware of that. He wrote me frankly that he 
cared for me no longer. That he loved a rich girl, and she 
would marry him, but he dared not risk the crime of bigamy, 
for she had powerful friends. He asked me to get a divorce 
for desertion, and he would give me $1,000.00. If I refused 
I should never hear from him again. He took the name of 
Cyrus Flood when he became identified with a syndicate or 
corporation that sent him to Lake City.” 

“Have you a marriage certificate or any proof that you 
and he were married?” 

“I have.” 

“May I see it?” 

“No. You will take it away from me. That gone, I am 
utterly unprotected. You appear to be a gentleman, but I 
cannot trust you,” she replied with deep earnestness. 


90 


NORMA LANE 


“I will be as frank with you as you have been with me, 
and when I have told you all, I think you will trust me. 
Cyrus Flood, as he calls himself, has come between a young 
man of probity and honor — a friend, a brother in a sense, 
and a young woman of excellent family — an orphan. She is 
a beautiful girl*. He has represented himself as a single man, 
and she, I am grieved to say, seems to be infatuated with him. 
His business in Lake City is not particularly creditable to 
him, although the law cannot interfere. I am not his attorney 
as you inferred. You assumed that I was, and until this 
moment I have not sought to deny it. I told you I would take 
no advantage of your statement to me. I say to you now, 
I will not, but I appeal to you as a woman worthy of a more 
loyal husband to help me save a pure young girl who has 
never wronged you in thought because she knows not of your 
existence, nor would she wrong you in deed did she know 
the truth. She would spurn Cyrus Flood — would drive him 
from her presence if she knew — will you not help me?” 

‘Tell me how?” she replied, calmly. 

“Give me proof of your marriage, and come with me to 
Lake City.” 

“I will bring you the proof.” 

She was absent from the room but a few moments, and 
when he had examined the certificate, he said: “Now will 
you accompany me to Lake City?” 

“How can I? I was forced to leave apartments that were 
comfortable, and come to this — but it is shelter. Soon I 
shall be driven from here. My money is almost gone, and 
he will not send me more unless I consent to set him free.” 
A mist was gathering in her eyes. 

“If I can convince you that 1 am all I claim to be — a gen- 
tleman — will you come, or do you fear to meet him face 
to face?” 


NORMA LANE 


91 


‘To meet him? No. But to face poverty and starvation, 
yes.” Her eyes sought his unflinchingly. 

“There is a gentleman in this city,” he replied, “whom 
you must know, at least by reputation. No man in my pro- 
fession stands higher. He is known throughout this entire 
United States. If you will meet this eminent man and hear 
him say, either in my presence or to you alone, that all I 
promised you will be fulfilled, will you come?” 

‘.‘What do you promise me?” 

“I promise you protection. I promise you friends and an 
honorable position, and I further promise that you will re- 
ceive the thousand dollars Flood had promised — a promise 
he will never keep.” 

“What am I to do?” 

“Go with me, as I have said, and when I shall arrange 
the time and place meet your husband, and if he attempts to 
deny your claim upon him produce these proofs,” said Drake. 

“Who is this eminent gentleman of whom you speak?” 

When Drake had named him — a man familiar to the 
country, an honored name — she stared at him as if it was 
beyond belief. “And you know him?” 

“My father. Judge Absalom Drake, and he are friends — 
warm, devoted friends.” 

“He would not let a woman be betrayed, even if you care 
to, and I won't believe you wish to wrong me.” 

“Then let us go,” he said. 


CHAPTER NINE. 


HE suburban residence of Wilberton Vance was one 
of the handsomest, if not the most pretentious, 
in Lake City. The wide lawn, a mass of odorous 
flowers, lined the walled grounds, while all about 
were trees and shrubs and climbing roses. Inside 
the lighted mansion, Vance sat alone. 

Harold Brady was there, but he and Jean had strolled 
into the moonlight. The white, full moon lighted the beauti- 
ful grounds save here and there where the tree shadows were 
deep and dark. Eleanor Clay came from her apartment, and 
looking out from the wide circling veranda, called: “Jean, 
where are you, Jean?” 

To Vance the call was like a half forgotten melody. A 
strain from a sweet old song, that came wandering back from 
other days. The world is wont to sneer at the new-born love 
in the soul of a widower. She, who had passed away while 
Jean was yet a little girl, was not forgotten. He could not 
forget. He had been thinking of her that moment, and the 
voice of Jean’s friend was like the voice that was hushed. 

In a moment he was by her side, Jean’s friend, the guest 
in his home. 

“Has that daughter of mine deserted you?” he asked. 

“I imagine she is hiding from me in the shrubbery yon- 
der.” 

“If she is, she is not alone.” 

“For the moment I had forgotten Mr. Brady,” she laugh- 
ingly replied. 


T 


92 


NORMA LANE 


93 


“Mr. Brady never forgets his social obligations. If Jean 
and her ‘Melancholy Dane,’ as she calls him at times, are 
lurking in the shadows, I am tempted to ask that I be per- 
mitted to enjoy the moolight with you.” 

“Neither the moonlight nor the lawn is mine,” Mr. 
Vance.” He looked at her sharply, but did not observe the 
ghost of a roguish smile that accompanied her peculiar reply. 

“That is a mystifying answer, and might mean if either 
or both were yours that you preferred the society of your 
thoughts.” 

“Is not that conclusion unjust to both of us?” 

“I confess I hope it is,” Vance replied, with an attempt 
at gayety he did not feel. The moon shone upon the face of 
the fair young woman leaning carelessly upon the great round 
pillars of the veranda, and he wondered as he glanced at her 
if all went well with him in his business venture — that dream 
of his — the dream that was growing misty and vaguely dark 
even then — if she would ever be a part of the lovely scene 
his vision rested upon. Presently he added: “I hope Jean 
is making your visit pleasant.” 

“I have enjoyed every moment of it.” 

“It is not my desire to appear neglectful of my daugh- 
ter’s guests, but you may have observed that I am a busy 
man.” 

“It is splendid to be able to carry on an enterprise that 
all the city is interested in,” she replied. 

“It has its pleasures and allurements, but we sometimes 
tremble at the thought of failure.” 

“Resolute men seldom fail.” 

“Circumstances sometimes crush the bravest,” he replied. 
“I shall not annoy you by discussing my business affairs, but 
I am reaching a crisis in my work. I sometimes pause and 
ask myself whether it is failure at the end. It is not of my- 
self I am thinking, but of Jean. I can gather myself together 


94 


NORMA LANE 


after a fashion, but Jean would suffer most. I should not 
like to see the joyous light die out from her eyes because of 
failure.” 

“Why speak of failure, Mr. Vance?” 

“As I was about to complete the work I have given my 
fortune and best endeavors to accomplish there came into our 
midst this man Cyrus Flood, of whom you have heard, and he 
may cause no little trouble, possibly failure.” 

“Is he so powerful?” she asked. 

“That remains to be seen, but legal complications which 
he is endeavoring to bring about, may cause irreparable 
injury. A friend in New York telegraphed me late this after- 
noon to have trusted men follow his every footstep.” 

Vance was about to speak of Flood’s influence upon Norma 
Lane, of her indifference toward her friends generally, and 
Neil Dare in particular, when Jean and Harold joined them. 

“Here you are, getting sentimental in the moonlight, I 
venture,” said Jean. 

“Someone must entertain your guests while you run 
about,” replied her father. 

“I hope it was not a serious task. Now I have cares that 
might cause an Indian to weep.” 

“I had not the faintest idea you had a care in the world,” 
remarked Eleanor. 

“Gaze on that countenance,” and Jean pointed her finger 
at the luckless Harold. “The knight of the rueful counten- 
ance number two. I am undecided which would be best for 
him — Christian Science or paragoric.” 

“Jean, you are merciless,” interrupted Eleanor. 

“Talk of the merciless savage, with his tomahawk ” 

and Harold was about to open the flood gates of his oratory. 
This Jean prevented by saying: “Which one of us, if left to 
choose the manner of execution would not prefer the toma- 
hawk to ‘tommyrot?’ ” 


NORMA LANE 


95 


“There you go again. Spare us the agony of another 
quarrel, or if you must, go and pour out your troubles to the 
cast iron dogs by the gateway,” said Vance. 

“We will do nothing of the kind — we will go out there 
to the rustic seat on the lawn and be perfectly lovely with 
each other.” 

“Amen,” said Harold, devoutly, as he followed his fair 
inquisitor. 

Even Harold was surprised at the attention she gave him 
as he outlined his new offer on the paper. He had been 
promoted and his salary increased and indications were that 
he would soon be made managing editor. 

“And then, Jean” — he paused as if he feared to say more. 

“What is it, Harold?” 

“When that time comes, and it is not far away, I shall 
come to you and say ” 

At that moment Vance called to him: “By the way, 
Harold, did you see Flood today?” 

“Papa, if I used slang I would say that you have a most 
disagreeable habit of ‘butting in’ occasionally.” 

“But I have something important to discuss with him, 
and you ladies will excuse us, won’t you?” 

As Harold turned to leave Jean called to him: “Don’t 
forget what you were going to say.” 

Jean knew quite as well as Harold what he was about to 
say. The story of his devotion was not new to her, but she 
never permitted him to ask the question bluntly: “Jean, will 
you marry me?” 

She was quite certain she wanted him to ask that ques- 
tion sometime, but the time had not arrived when she cared 
to be bound by a promise. She was thinking of this as 
Eleanor came and sat beside her on the rustic seat. “I do not 
believe,” she said, “that I will offer you the traditional penny 
for your thoughts — I read them.” 


96 


NORMA LANE 


“I wonder if you can? Did you find my papa interest- 
ing?" 

“Very, I’m sure." 

“I was rather interested in a story Harold was telling," 
said Jean, and there was a dreamy, absent expression in the 
wide, hazel eyes. Perhaps it was the story her eyes were 
telling that led Eleanor to say: “At last, Jean, you are 
beginning to be sensible." 

“I wonder if I ever shall be? I have been very rude to 
poor Harold, and he is the dearest boy in the world. Some 
day I will be in the mood to listen to him tell a very, very old 
story, but one as sweet as when it was new.” 

“Doubtless, doubtless,” Eleanor replied. 

“You know such a story is ever interesting when the right 
man tells it. Perhaps I am not quite myself tonight. I know 
papa is in trouble, and I know that being with you has 
seemed to make him forget it. Until Harold came into 
my life he was everything to me, father, brother, chum — 
everything but mother. I was only ten years old when I saw 
his tears rain down on the unanswering face of my mother; 
it seems to me that his love for me since that hour is like 
the love of the Infinite One. I will not leave him until some 
one comes. Eleanor, I wish that some one was you." 

“Jean, dear, you cannot mean what you are saying — why, 
he " 

“Do not say it — I know — you were about to say that 
he was so many years your senior, you could not learn to 
care for him." 

“My best girl friend, my dear Jean, you humiliate me — 
your father does not care for me — he has never hinted such 
a thing. What would you have me do, dear?” 

“I will tell you. Wait, just wait, and then say yes. It 
is natural, it is what sooner or later I must expect, that some 


NORMA LANE 


97 


woman will be his wife. Why would he not love one as 
sweet and desirable as you, Eleanor?” 

“Would it not be well to wait until he asks me, dear?” 

“Well, perhaps it would,” and the girls laughed merrily. 
Before they could introduce a theme that might lead them 
back to that which left Eleanor’s cheeks aglow, Neil Dare 
stood before them. 

“I do not know, Jean, just why I came — I had to, I 
guess — I met them a while ago. Norma would not look 
toward me, and he sneered as usual. I never felt so much 
like killing any creature, even a wild beast, as that man,” 
and Neil stood with clenched fists as though his enemy was 
before him. 

“Neil, papa is the guardian of Norma and Marion. I 
love little Marion as if she were my own sister, and once I 
loved Norma. Now I despise her. The girls are telling 
cruel, awful stories about her — stories I would not let them 
tell me, though they tried to, but I do not care to recognize 
her again. I know how you love her, pardon my plain 
speech, and I know, too, that it is not easy to forget. It is 
not easy to kill such affection as yours even though the object 
is unworthy. I cannot cheer or comfort you. Take your love 
for Norma Lane and strangle it. Strangle it as you would 
a beast that had sought to harm you.” 

“Perhaps some day I may forget, but not now. Where 
is your papa, Jean? There is nothing special to say — noth- 
ing in the way of news, but some way I feel better when I 
am with him.” 

Harold came hurriedly from his conference with Vance, 
and seeing Neil, exclaimed : “Just the man we want. Come, 
the auto will be here in a moment, the Western Union has 
phoned that an important message has come, and asks if they 
shall deliver it tonight. We will get Dr. Harley and come 
back at once.” 


98 


NORMA LANE 


“Is it bad news, Harold?” Jean asked, anxiously. 

“We don’t know, but believe it may turn out to be good 
news.” 

The machine had not passed out of hearing until a cab 
came rapidly down the carriage road and a young man 
approached the rustic seat where the girls were yet wonder- 
ing what all the hurry and excitement of the evening meant. 

“I am told,” said the stranger, “that Mr. Vance is at 
home, and if he is not engaged I would consider it a favor if 
I could see him, if even for a few minutes.” 

“Come with me,” said Jean. When they reached the 
veranda, Mr. Vance met them. “This gentleman wishes to 
see you, papa.” 

“Permit me to introduce myself, Mr. Vance. I am Assist- 
ant Secretary of the Great Northern Electric Company, Fox- 
hall Standhope.” 

“Be seated, Mr. Standhope.” The stranger, while not 
anticipating effusiveness, noted the flush of annoyance, and 
realized at once that Mr. Vance believed him an associate of 
Flood. 

“I observe by your manner, Mr. Vance, that you doubtless 
believe me in league with one Cyrus Flood, who pretends to 
represent our Company. I have heard of him. I met a 
friend of yours on the train as we were both on our way to 
New York. I need not now enter into details, how Mr. Drake 
came to tell me about the situation here. I arrived in this 
city about an hour ago. I believed it wise to see you at once, 
that I may join with you in circumverting Flood.” 

“Mr. Standhope, you will pardon my seemingly discourte- 
ous reception, but when you mentioned the name of your 
Company I most naturally associated you with the man I 
have every reason to believe is a rascal.” 

“He is doubtless what you say he is, and I hasten to 
assure you that he never was connected with our Company.” 


NORMA LANE 


99 


“I know you will believe me when I say that I can never 
more heartily welcome an unexpected guest. I had begun 
to fear this man Flood. He was undermining my credit, 
and I feared that any day he might induce some of the stock- 
holders to begin litigation.” 

The gentleman then reviewed the entire situation. Stand- 
hope told of his meeting Drake, and how he promised the 
young attorney that he would come to Lake City at once, if 
business permitted. Now that he was on the ground they 
would not only circumvent Flood but would have the Company 
he was associated with proceed at once to equip the road. 

“Come, you must meet my daughter and her friend, Miss 
Clay,” said Vance. He was himself once more. He saw 
victory ahead. Flood must fight him in the open now. He 
was pleased to think that he had sent for Dr. Harley. The 
doctor would go over the line of the road and tell the story 
of Flood’s duplicity. 

When Standhope was presented to the ladies, Jean saw 
at a glance the changed expression upon the face of her 
father. 

“Mr. Standhope, you have brought good news to us, as I 
read the story here,” and she fondly stroked the cheeks of 
the father she loved so dearly. 

“He did bring good news, daughter. I see daylight again.” 

“And Eleanor and I see only the light of the ‘inconstant 
moon.’ ” 

“The ‘inconstant moon,’ as you are pleased to say, is 
smiling now on a most lovely scene. Let us take the beauty 
of this night, with its wealth of fragrance from the flowers 
that will not sleep — the flowers that smile upon each other 
through all the lighted night as a sign that right will tri- 
umph,” said Standhope. 

“Mr. Standhope,” said Jean, “were you at Yale?” 

“Yes.” 


100 


NORMA LANE 


“Then I know you.” 

“Have we met before and I failed to remember you?” 

“We never met, but some one will be here soon — I will 
not tell you — we will wait and see if you know each other.” 

The discordant “honk,” “honk,” of the machine was heard 
in the distance. 

“The boys are coming,” said Vance. 

“They are coming at a mad pace, too,” added Jean. 

In a moment there was only the chaffeur left — the doc- 
tor led the way, waving in his hand a letter. “Vive le doc- 
teur,” shouted Harold. 

“That voice, I have heard it before,” and Standhope 
turned to Jean, inquiringly. 

The doctor was too excited to observe the stranger, and 
cried: “Vance, I’m richer than old — old — what’s his name?” 

“Creosote,” suggested Harold. 

“You must have the toothache, young man — well, I’m 
rich anyway — when I get it. They have found all kinds of 
oil on my farm ” 

“Hair oil and everything,” interrupted Harold. 

“I’m offered fifty thousand dollars for it.” 

“And your farm is near that new field in ” and before 

Vance could finish — “right in the center of it,” cried the 
doctor. “I just come to tell you so I can wire tonight.” 

“Don’t take it,” commented Vance. I 

“Why General Jim Jehosephat, Vance, I counted on join- 
ing the lodge.” j 

The group had not noticed that Aunt Louise had joined 
them. ! 

“Doctor,” she said unctuously — “doctor, are you an oil' 

man?” | 

“I am reeking in oil, Madame. I’m an octopus.” 


CHAPTER TEN. 


HEN the excitement caused by the announcement 
of the fortune that had come to the doctor had 
lulled, Vance opened the dispatch Neil had given 
him. He read it and re-read it; then he replaced 
the message in the envelope. Jean asked if it 
was of interest to all, or merely a matter of business. 

“It is business,” he replied, “and it interests all of us,” 
but we will discuss it later. Neil, you had best accompany 
Tom, I am sending for Norma.” 

Neil asked permission to say a word to him privately, and 
when they were alone explained the great embarrassment 
that would be his if he attempted to talk to Norma. 

“She will not recognize me. She will not speak to me. 
I wish to please you in all things, but I beg of you do not 
impose that duty upon me.” 

“She refuses to recognize you, does she? Well, she will 
be glad enough to do so before many days or I miss my 
guess.” 

“Harold will go. I’m sure — he understands the situation 
— or perhaps the doctor ” 

“I could not think of sending the doctor anywhere to- 
night, he is too much excited, and I don’t blame him. Call 
Harold, I must see Norma tonight.” 

Harold readily agreed to go, although deeply interested 
in talking over Yale days with Standhope, By this time the 
car was waiting and as he hurried to explain to Jean why he 
must go down to the city again, that young lady with decided 
emphasis said: “You shall not go.” 

101 



102 


NORMA LANE 


“Your father asked me, how can I refuse?” 

“Papa, are you sending Harold to bring Norma Lane 
here?” 

“I have asked him because Neil cannot go, under the cir- 
cumstances.” 

“ I beg of you not to bring that girl here.” 

“Jean ” there was seldom a note of impatience in his 

voice when addressing his daughter, but now she realized that 
he was nearer being angry with her than ever before. 

“Jean, Tm surprised at your language. You know my 
relationship, you know that her father ” 

“I know all that,” she interrupted. “Her father was a 
good man. I cannot say his eldest daughter is an honor to 
him.” 

“Do you wish to offend me, my daughter?” 

“I do not, but she is the talk of the town. I hope you 
will not expect me to recognize her.” 

“You have been listening to gossip, my child,” he said, 
more gently, “and this gossip will end ere long. I am send- 
ing for her to save her from taking a step that she may regret 
all her life. Tell Marion to come with her sister, Harold, and 
waste no time.” 

“Come, Eleanor, the gentlemen will excuse us for the 
present, at least,” Jean said, as she and Eleanor returned to 
the house. 

“And now, gentlemen, for a conference,” said Vance. 
“Doctor, if you will forget your oil land for a while. I’ll take 
up the matter with you later. At present I hope you will help 
me. 

“I’ll stay with you, Vance, if I have to sell the farm for 
$1.75 an acre.” 

“They will double the offer tomorrow.” 

“And then what?” 

“ ‘A bird in the hand,’ you know.” 


NORMA LANE 


103 


“If I ever get a hundred thousand dollar bird in my hand 
ril choke it to death.” 

“You might get double that amount,” said Standhope, 
“and you might not get $5,000 in a week from now. There is 
is no telling what the Standard may do.” 

There was a merry twinkle in the doctor's eyes, as he 
said: “For a day or two I can imitate old Sim Allen, that 
I used to know. He lived neighbor, he claimed, with Lin- 
coln in Illinois, and helped him split rails. Talking about it 
he would always say: ‘Me and Abe,’ did so and so, and I 
can say, ‘Me and John D.’ will whoop things up one of these ' 
days.” 

“Doctor, I know how deeply you are interested in the 
proposition made you, and yet I must ask you to do some- 
thing for me. The arrival of Mr. Standhope has put a new 
phase on affairs. I confess that today I began to fear that 
Flood would work great harm if not absolute ruin to the 
enterprise that means much to many of us. The telegram 1 
received just now, while not explicit, has prompted me to 
send for Norma. The message says: ‘Keep close watch upon 
Norma. They may elope. Will have Flood cornered soon.’ 
Mr. Standhope will be here until everything is safe. Our 
Company is in position to secure the Great Northern Electric 
Company, and in turn that institution will complete every 
detail. There is danger, however, even yet, that Flood may 
succeed in buying the stock of certain men through whose 
lands the line passes, on condition that they will ask for an 
injunction. Mr. Standhope agrees to accompany you over 
such portion of the road as seems in the most danger. He 
and you can make it clear to them that Flood is a fraud and 
that every promise I have made them will be fulfilled.” 

“As I said, I am at your disposal,” replied the doctor. 

“In regard to your offer, doctor, if you will make me your 
agent with power to act, I will agree to get double the amount 


104 


NORMA LANE 


you have been offered, or within one year I will give you 
fifty thousand myself for your farm. I must remain in the 
city; you, more than any other man, can deal successfully 
with these frightened stockholders. If my proposition seems 
fair, make over to me power of attorney in the morning, or 
tonight, and get away early tomorrow.” 

When Harold arrived with Norma and Marion, Vance 
called Jean and asked her to entertain Marion while he and 
Norma were engaged, as the gentlemen were in the billiard 
room smoking. 

“We will go to the library, Norma,” he said. Vance ob- 
served that Norma seemed exceedingly nervous, if not fright- 
ened. While her father’s friend had been kind toward her 
always, kind and ever courteous, he had never shown her 
the affection he had Marion, and secretly Norma resented 
this seeming partiality. Marion was no longer a child, she 
thought, and she was as much entitled to his consideration 
as her sister. She could not complain that she had been 
treated unkindly. Vance was ever considerate with her, but 
there was a fondness in his manner for Marion that she 
wished might have been hers as well. “I love that man,” she 
would say to herself, “love him as I would my father, 
but he holds me away from him. Why does he? Does he not 
see that I have wanted to come to him as a daughter might to 
the father who loved her.” 

“Take that easy chair, Norma; we have something to dis- 
cuss that may be unpleasant, and may take some time, so we 
will take such physical comfort as offers.” 

“Mr. Vance, you have never liked me as you have 
Marion,” said Norma. “It is true she was quite a little girl 
when you took charge of us, but you cannot know how often 
I have wished that you would speak as tenderly to me as 
you have unvaryingly spoken to her. You have said that our 


NORMA LANE 


105 


interview may be unpleasant, I wish you to know my feelings 
toward you.” 

“My dear Norma, I never felt that Marion was more dear 
to me than you. You will never know how deeply I feel my 
inadequateness to live up to a promise to my dear friend, your 
father. There never was a time for many months after his 
death, when on meeting you and Marion, I did not want to 
put my arms about you and call you my own as I do Jean. 
The world — propriety — prevented. The public would have 
condemned me, would have been more unkind than it is 
now to you, had I given expression to all my heart prompted; 
and that brings me to the question we are here to discuss.” 

“You mean Mr. Flood, of course?” 

“Yes, we must talk about Mr. Flood.” 

“Naturally, you must feel, Mr. Vance, that I have treated 
Neil badly. He is associated with you — your employe — I 
mean.” 

“Not only an employe, but my friend,” he replied with 
much feeling. 

“I may be frank with you, Mr. Vance. Neil asked me to 
marry him. I do not believe I promised, but I did not say no. 
I was certain that I cared for him, but was not sure of myself. 
Then Mr. Flood came — we met, and it seemed to me there 
was but one person then that could make me happy.” 

“Will you tell me as a friend — for I am your friend, 
Norma — as I remember the words of your dying father I 
could not be other than your friend ; will you tell me how you 
became acquainted with Flood?” 

“I will tell you all there is to tell. You remember Mark 
Singleton. He was once a gentleman, at least, many of us 
thought so. Then he became a drunkard and worse, and nat- 
urally every girl that had respect for herself shunned him. 
One afternoon I was going to the Casino. I was alone. Mark 
came toward me — planted himself in front of me, and tried 


106 


NORMA LANE 


to detain me. I ordered him to let me pass. He looked into 
my face and made some sneering comment. What I said to 
him I do not remember, but he attempted to kiss me. A mes- 
senger boy passed at that moment, and I asked him to send 
the officer to me at once. In a moment a stranger came 
quickly to my side and, grasping the situation, dashed Single- 
ton aside and accompanied me to the Casino. Thus we be- 
came acquainted, and since that time he has treated me with 
the utmost consideration. 

Vance did not reply for some time. Finally he asked: 
“Did you know, Norma, that Mark Singleton is working for 
Flood?” 

“That seems incredible.” 

“Nevertheless it is true. Do you know what Mr. Flood’s 
business in Lake City is, Norma?” 

“He is here, he said, ‘to equip the new road’ — that he 
and you have about concluded the business that brought him 
here.” 

“You would be surprised, Norma, to learn that he is here 
to ruin me financially.” 

“I would be much surprised if that was true, and if you 
will pardon me for speaking plainly, I must say, I do not 
believe it.” 

“Norma Lane, it is true. I have absolute proof.” 

“Doctor Harley and Neil hate Mr. Flood, though why the 
doctor interferes is more than I can fathom,” she replied bit- 
terly. 

“It is true. I heard it first from the doctor ” 

“I thought so,” she interrupted. 

“As I was saying,” Vance continued imperturbably, “I 
heard it first from the doctor. I was incredulous, too, but 
was forced to investigate, and I can bring you, if it were 
necessary, a dozen men whom he and Mark Singleton have 
urged to break with me and get the road into the Courts. Un- 


NORMA LANE 


107 


less a speedy termination could be arrived at, ruin might be 
the result. It was not Flood’s efforts to ruin me that I wished 
to consider. What I propose to ask you concerns your future 
happiness, and as I said a moment ago, it is as your friend 
I ask these questions. Has Flood asked you to marry him?” 

“Do you consider that question quite fair to me?” 

“It looks blunt and discourteous, I admit, but it is not 
through idle curiosity, or an attempt to interfere with you. 
It does mean, however, that you may be a victim of an unscru- 
pulous fellow ” 

“If I consider him worthy of my confidence, do you think, 
Mr. Vance, that innuendoes would change that confidence?” 

“Unfortunately that blind confidence women have for men 
that appeal to them makes their danger all the greater. You 
were not aware, and possibly will not believe, even since I 
have offered to prove to you that the man who came pretend- 
ing to be the representative of a great manufacturing estab- 
lishment is not connected therewith, and that he is using that 
simply as a ‘blind’ to work disaster and ruin to me.” 

“Do you really believe that, Mr. Vance?” 

“I have proof for that, also.” 

“I am not disputing your word, but I am sure you have 
been misinformed.” 

“If I dared trust you, Norma, I would prove all that I have 
asserted.” 

“Have I fallen so far in your esteem that you cannot trust 
me?” 

“The time has not yet arrived when he shall be exposed. 
Exposed he surely will be, and it is my earnest desire that 
you will not in any way share in the humiliation. In less 
than five minutes I could prove to you that Flood never was 
connected with The Great Northern Electric Company, a rep- 
resentative of which he claims to be.” 

“Then why not give me the proof?” 


108 


NORMA LANE 


“Because you would tell him, even if you promised me 
you would not.” He saw her color deeply, and in her eyes 
there was the glitter of anger. “Do not think, I beg of you, 
that I believe you would stoop to falsehood, but you are a 
woman — you could not help it — that is all. But we are 
wasting time on my part of this unhappy affair. Let us turn 
to something of more vital importance to you.” 

“That is useless. When it is clear to my mind that Mr. 
Flood is seeking to bring disaster to a man whose affection 
I have yearned for — bring ruin, as you have said, to my 
dear, dead father’s most loyal and loving friend, then I will 
show him what a woman’s scorn is; then I show you what 
loyalty to a precious memory is; even though I am a girl 
you will not trust.” 

“Daughter of my dear friend, I never have come so near 
loving you as my child, as at this moment. Now let me read 
you part of a telegram received this evening. It is from New 
York and says: ‘Keep close watch upon Norma; they may 
elope.’ ” 

“May I ask what that means?” 

“It means more than you can guess. It means more than 
I care to tell you. It means the keeping of a vow. It means 
that a solemn obligation is being observed to the letter. That 
message is from a young man whom you know and respect. 
A young man of whom it can be said: ‘None stand higher in 
our social life than he.’ Upon his own volition — I being 
absolutely unaware of his intentions until he was gone, he 
went to save you from a mistake — an unconscious or unin- 
tentional mistake, but one that might cast a blight upon your 
life. You may think that Neil has had something to do 
with all this. He has not. He has been bearing up under 
the blow that has fallen upon him as bravely and as man- 
fully as he can. He utters not complaint. He keeps his grief 
to himself. It is not, I know, as wicked for you to desert him 


NORMA LANE 


109 


unwedded as you are, as though a solemn vow had bound you, 
and yet his anguish is as keen as though he had held you in 
his arms and called you wife. I do not seek to hide from you 
the fact that it would have pleased me greatly to have seen 
you Neil Dare’s wife. Whether that shall be or not is no 
affair of mine. I am not here to plead his cause, dearly 
as I might wish to, but when this gentleman hastened to the 
great city to help untangle the threads of fate in which you 
are being enmeshed, it means much to you. You may won- 
der why this apparent interference in an affair you may deem 
your own, but he and I could not face your father in the 
world that lies beyond, if we did not try to shield you from 
every harm.” 

“What do you wish me to do?” 

“I ask that you make no rash resolve to run away with 
Cyrus Flood.” 

“I do not anticipate taking such a step. He has asked me 
to be his wife. You asked me that question plainly and I 
evaded it. Now I answer it. When I know that he has the 
right to claim me I may go, if he has been honest with you. 
If he has not, you have my promise. I have taken no obli- 
gation, I have made no promise, but I make it now to you. 
I will never marry a man who cannot look you in the face 
and say: ‘I never sought to wrong you.’ I have heard it inti- 
mated that some think me unworthy of recognition by good 
people. If that were true I would not be here tonight. Force 
alone would have brought me. If I could not look fearlessly 
into your eyes, I should go down to the night at once, despised 
and pitied.” 

“Nobly said, my girl. My mind is at rest. All will be 
right one of these days,” he said, and in his voice there was 
a world of tenderness. “Marion will be wondering what 
is keeping us. But, first, let me revert to what you said 
about Dr. Harley. You felt that for some reason he was 


no 


NORMA LANE 


meddling in your affairs. Do not forget that the doctor is 
your true friend. You might insult him, might treat him with 
contumely, but through it all he would be your friend.” 

“On account of his strange affection for Marion?” Norma 
asked. 

“No. It began before you were born. Your grandfather 
saved the life of the doctor upon the battlefield. They were 
brave men, both of them, and the doctor would give his life, 
if need be, for you as well as for Marion. He is one of God’s 
noblemen, and I wish you to go home tonight feeling that 
the brave, old man would stop at nothing short of dishonor 
to keep your name as spotless as I deem it — as spotless as 
it is now.” 

As they came from the library Jean met them. It was a 
pitiless stare that Norma met, and with unflinching gaze she 
returned it. Vance was not ready to believe that Jean would 
show such marked discourtesy in her father’s house and to 
one she had known all her life. 

“Jean,” he exclaimed, indignantly, “Jean, you insult your 
father when you insult his guest. Norma Lane is worthy of 
my affection and my daughter’s trust.” 

“No one questions your motives, my father, but you don’t 
know ” 

“I do know — I know it all.” 

Norma, proudly erect, showed no trace of guilt, no sign 
of shame. But when Jean had said to her father, “You don’t 
know,” she grew white as the hoar frost and the glitter in 
her eyes so markedly beautiful when in repose was as the 
glitter of the snow in winter sun. She opened her lips 
as if to speak, but closed them quickly. If a look could 
have killed, Jean would have been silent forever. 

“Norma has earned no insult, and is not in need of pity,” 
Vance continued sternly. 


NORMA LANE 


111 


Jean started to leave them, scorn upon her lips, contempt 
in her eyes. 

“Stop,” he thundered, “recognize my guest.” 

“I bow to your command. Miss Lane, good evening.” 



CHAPTER ELEVEN. 


ARK SINGLETON finally found one of the stock- 
holders, a man that had invested liberally, and 
who had cheerfully given the right of way through 
a portion of his property, in a mood to listen to 
him. 

It was not always possible to follow country roads, and 
in such cases the right of way through farms was secured. 
So desirous were the people living alongside the proposed 
line that little trouble was experienced in arranging for the 
same. The opportunity for a better market, and a speedy 
manner of reaching the City in the winter season, prompted 
universal enthusiasm in the project. 

Simon Buchwalter, a man of convivial habits, was inclined 
to do even more than was expected of him, because he saw in 
imagination many an unroarious hour in Lake City, where 
he could laugh at the winter winds when they howled, and the 
storms that formerly beat about him as he made the long 
ride over rough roads. Rarely did he consider the money- 
making advantage of the road; it was always the ease with 
which he could reach the spot where the coarse jest and the 
hot punch could be found that appealed to him. 

Mark was in one of the small villages on the route and 
there met Simon, who was discoursing to a group of kindred 
spirits upon the gloom that ever pervaded — from his view- 
point — a village where the thirsty continue to thirst, and 
where the bibulous could only babble of the gilded parlors 
of Bacchus. 



112 


NORMA LANE 


113 


Then he alluded to the new road, which, when com- 
pleted, would bear them quickly to Lake City. ‘T give ’em 
the right of way an’ I give ’em a cool thousand besides. 
Some day I expect to git that thousand back ,an’ when I do 
I’ll blow half of it a ridin’ to Lake City when the crops ain’t 
pesterin’ me.” 

Mark fixed upon Simon as his man. He carried in the 
carriage a few bottles which he had labeled “Tidings of Com- 
fort.” 

As soon as he could secure the attention of Simon, he 
said: “I am a stranger to you, and I am from Lake City. 
I have some information on the subject you were talking 
about that may interest you. I have, also, something in the 
carriage there that will hit the spot, if you care to try it.” 

“Honest Injin, hev you?” Simon’s tongue was moisten- 
ing his lips in anticipation. 

“Excuse yourself to your friends and get in with me. I 
haven’t enough for that bunch.” 

“I guess I got time to show you the place,” and Simon 
winked fast and often. “Boy’s, I’m goin’ to show this stranger 
a farm down here a ways, an’ I’ll be back soon.” 

When they were out of the village Mark stopped under 
a wide spreading maple and produced the bottle he had named 
“Tidings of Comfort,” a whiskey glass and a siphon of 
seltzer. 

“Got a whole bar with you, ain’t you? You are certainly 
my kind of a missionary. What is that writin’ on the bottle. 
I ain’t got my specks. Tidings of Comfort,’ hey? Well, ef 
that ain’t glad tidens I don’t want a cent. My wife alius 
invites the Presidin’ Elder to our house Camp Meetin’ times 
an’ feeds him chicken till she has to sew the buttons on his 
vest, but by thunder you can come an’ stay a week. I’ll feed 
you on three kinds of chicken meat, turkey, chicken an' 
duck.” 


114 


NORMA LANE 


Mark had not been sparing of the “tidings,” and Simon 
was soon in a receptive mood. Then he told the story con- 
cerning the commission business, and how the road was about 
to go under, because the men at the head of it had been 
foolishly extravagant. He told also how he happened to 
know a man who could save the day — who could build the 
road if he got enough stock at a low figure. 

“By thunder, I want the road built. I won’t always hev 
you here.” 

“If I had you in Lake City I would put you next to a man 
that could save your thousand for you.” 

“You don’t sha?” Simon’s tongue was growing unman- 
ageable. 

“I am going back to Lake City tomorrow. I will be there 
tomorrow evening. Why can’t you meet me at the Wilson 
House at noon the next day — that is Thursday — say Thurs- 
day noon?” 

“All right, hie; come an’ shay all night at my house.” 

Mark declined. He did not know what manner of woman 
Mrs. Buchwater might be. He exacted a promise, however, 
that Simon should meet him at Lake City Thursday. 

“We will have dinner together at the Wilson House.” 

“An’ shum more ti — tide — tidings?” asked Simon. 

“We will have the best money can buy,” replied Mark. 

“I will git breakfas’ at home an’ dinner with you, hie, 
umph?” 

“You will be my guest.” 

“I guess I will.” Mark forced a laugh. Simon was wink- 
ing vigorously again, a signal that he had uttered a rare bit of 
humor. 

Simon’s friends had not left the corner they had occu- 
pied when he was taken away by the stranger. The farmer 
stumbled and fell headlong into the group as he attempted to 
spring nimbly from the carriage. 


NORMA LANE 


115 


“Where did you git it?” they cried in unison as Mark 
drove away. 

Doctor Harley and Foxhall Standhope were busy men dur- 
ing the two days succeeding the conference. More might 
have been accomplished had not Wilberton Vance suggested 
that he return and visit a dying patient. The end might come 
any hour, and she might live a week or two, but the inevitable 
was not far away. 

“There will be nothing left of the estate to pay you, 
doctor,” Vance said, “but I know you would not neglect her 
if you were in the City, and so come back when you can.” 

“I have been looking after her ever since I learned she 
had no money to get medical attention, and I shall not be dis- 
appointed in that regard. I have arranged with a young phy- 
sician to look after her when I cannot get back. He has his 
instructions and will execute them.” 

“While her son has lost all respect for himself and the 
respect of all who once knew him, there may be a remnant 
of manhood left in him, and when he learns the truth, who 
knows, it may stop his downward career,” said Vance as he 
bade his friends God speed. 

It is unnecessary to follow the doctor and Standhope in 
their journeying through the country. The doctor had only 
to announce that Flood was a fraud as could be shown by 
Mr. Standhope, who had come on from New York to put the 
line in running order. On the evening of the second day 
they returned, the doctor going at once to the bedside of his 
patient. 

“I have not long to wait now,” she said, feebly. “If I 
could see Mark before I go, I would die happier. He has done 
wrong — oh, so wrong, but he is my son, and a mother's love 
cannot cease even if the boy has fallen in the estimation of 
others.” 


116 


NORMA LANE 


“There, do not talk any more now, it exhausts you. I will 
try and find him if he is in the city,” and the doctor hurried 
away to look for Mark Singleton. 

In a short time the doctor located him. He saw that the 
young man had been drinking, and his companion also. The 
latter was boisterous and kept telling what he was going to 
do with the traction line. The doctor readily understood that 
the man was one Flood or Singleton had succeeded in hood- 
winking. 

“I wish to see you a moment,” and the doctor touched 
Mark lightly on the shoulder. Singleton sprang to his feet 
and drew back as if to strike. 

“If you was not so many years older than I, you would 
get one right on the jaw. This thing of you following me 
around don’t go, do you understand?” 

“I understand,” replied Harley, quietly. “Let me say if 
I was here for any other purpose than to deliver a message 
from your mother, my years would not stand in your way. 
As it is I am tempted to take you and your fool companion 
and bump your heads together until you get sober.” 

“What do you mean by a message from my mother?” he 
asked. 

“I doubt very much if she lives through the night.” 

“You are Dr. Harley, 1 know; when did you see my 
mother?” 

The doctor looked at his watch. “I left her a half hour 
ago. She was near the end then.” 

“My God, doctor, do you mean it?” 

“If there is one spark of manhood left in you, Mark Sin- 
gleton — if there is one drop of pure blood in your veins — 
if there is even a semblance of love remaining after your 
feast of husks, for the mother who bore you, and loves you — 
go to her this moment.” 


NORMA LANE 


117 


Simon Buchwalter came staggering to them, saying: 
“Fetch your friend up to the bar an’ hev one on me.” 

“Buchwalter, go to the hotel, go home — go anywhere you 
please; I’m going to see my sick mother,” and Mark pushed 
the man aside. 

“I’ll go ’long with you,” said the countryman. 

“Don’t follow me, man. Go to the hotel and go to bed.” 

Mark followed the doctor, and stood by the bedside of the 
mother who was near the unseen land. Then he knelt beside 
her. “Is she gone?” he whispered to the doctor. 

Even his whisper called her back. In the fading eyes her 
boy saw the tender light again. “Mother,” he said, and then 
his voice was choked by sobs. She had barely strength to 
lift her hand until it rested on his bowed head. “Mark, dear, 
I thought you would come. I wanted to see you before I went 
away. I wonder what will become of you when I am gone? 
Won’t you try to be a good boy again like you used to be? 
You was such a comfort to me once. I want you to always 
love the doctor, here, and Mr. Vance. I would have suffered 
but for them. The good Lord knows all about it or I would 
tell Him all the story of their goodness.” 

They saw her fold her hands; they saw her lips move. 
Mark, with streaming eyes, was bending over her. They 
scarcely breathed. She was whispering her last prayer. 
“Keep him, and let me have him in Your kingdom — don’t let 
my boy get lost — lost.” The whisper died upon her lips, 
the smile that was not of earth came, and then — she went 
away. 

Vance had asked Jean and Eleanor to go with him to see 
the poor woman, not knowing that the end was so near. She 
was now the “insensible clod” — simply a bit of earth, but the 
messenger that sealed her lips left thereon the smile that 
meant peace. Silently they entered the death chamber. The 


118 


NORMA LANE 


doctor, though familiar with death scenes, as one of his pro- 
fession must be, brushed aside the starting tears. 

“The end was nearer than we thought,” he said. 

Mark looked up and, seeing Vance and the ladies, arose, 
and with great effort said: “If the ladies will go to yonder 
room I would like to say a word to you gentlemen.” 

Jean and Eleanor withdrew and Mark motioned them to be 
seated. 

“I know,” he said, “that you can only despise me. I 
despise myself, now that I realize what I have been. Now 
that I can see what a brute I’ve been to neglect my mother — ” 
Then his voice broke, and when he regained his speech, he 
asked: “Tell me, have you been caring for my mother, you 
and the doctor, Mr. Vance?” 

“I knew your father and mother when you were a mere 
child, and when I learned that she was ill 4nd badly off for 
life’s necessities, I did what any one would do in like circum- 
stances. The doctor did much, however. He would leave 
other duties unperformed to minister to her. You owe the 
doctor something that you can pay whether you have a dol- 
lar on earth, and that is your good will. If you care for that 
silent one who loved you, you will regard him with kindly 
favor.” 

“I suppose you won’t believe me, Mr. Vance, but I’ll tell 
you, and I will prove to you that bad as I have been — bad 
as I am — there is a little decent streak left in me. The dust 
and dirt of dishonor and dissipation has so coated my soul, 
if I have one, that it took her dying prayer to brush it off. 
I have been working against you, Mr. Vance, while you have 
been caring for my poor mother.” 

“I knew all about your work, but that would be little ex- 
cuse for me to neglect a woman in distress.” 

“I’ll tell you. I hate to leave this house tonight,” said 
Mark, “but I must see Buchwalter — he was the drunken 


NORMA LANE 


119 


fellow I was with when you met me, doctor. I got him to 
promise that he would go into Court tomorrow. I have got 
to see him before Flood sees him and get him to go to your 
office.” 

“Mark, don’t forget tomorrow the good resolve you have 
made tonight. You may not have the ready money to arrange 
for the burial of your mother. Leave that to me. Be a man 
again and when the new road is completed I’ll take care of 
you.” 

“I will do my best. Give me a chance, Mr. Vance. I 
swear — I believe I can get up again. Try me and if I make 
a break, let me slide. 

“I fooled my money away, and I’m down and out — at 
least I was when Flood found me and gave me money to 
work against you. I thought you as well as every one else 
despised me, and so I took his money when I hadn’t even a 
dime left. One thing he hired me to do that makes me more 
ashamed than anything else, and that was the dirty trick I 
played on Norma Lane.” 

“How was that?” Vance was interested at once. 

Mark related the story already familiar, and when he had 
finished, Vance said: “I am glad you told me that. Mark, 
I want you to help me save her from that man.” 

“I’ll do it. Flood has treated me fairly. He has paid me 
for my work. It is only that one little mean act he hired 
me to do that I get ugly over when I think of it. The thing 
that gets me is, that while I was doing you dirt, you was 
doing everything for my mother. I want one of you to go 
with me to the Wilson House. I think Buchwalter had sense 
enough to go there, and if he is not too drunk we will fix 
him for tomorrow.” 

“I will go with you. I wish to see Simpson anyway — 


and- 


120 


NORMA LANE 


“I understand — the undertaker. Mr. Vance, this may not 
be the time to say so, but if you give me a chance to earn 
money. I’ll pay back every cent you advance for me.” 

“Mark, if you will be a man — the man your mother would 
have you be — you will have paid me back all and more. I 
belong to an Order that seeks to lift men up, not pull them 
down.” 

“I know what you mean,” Mark said, “but that Order gave 
me a jolt once.” 

“When they black-balled you. That could not be helped; 
you was not a man then. Get on your feet, be honest, be 
upright, don’t get down into the dirt again and every ball in 
the box will be white when you try it the next time.” 



CHAPTER TWELVE. 


MONO those who were wont to enjoy the crowds, 
the sights and scenes, and so much of the music 
in the theater as came floating out upon the wide 
porticos of the Casino, was Margery, “the slave,” 
as she was pleased to call herself. “I’m jist a 
goin’ to steal a little time to rest,” she would say, and those 
who needed her services, or rather her help, could testify 
that, if stealing time was a capital offense, Margery would be 
serving a life sentence. 

The overture had just began when she sat by a table as 
near the high, open window as was possible. The Casino 
windows were open, but they were not within reach of those 
who, from the manager’s standpoint, would steal more than 
time, and yet not violate law. With a sigh that indicated com- 
fort rather than weariness, Margery said: “Well, I can hear 
that music and not cost me a cent. I ’spose I must buy a 
glass of pop or something. That hungry lookin’ waiter keeps 
a eyein’ me as if the place was his’n. I’d buy a ‘growler’ if 
I could, but there’s so many fanatics” — Margery called them 
“fan a ticks” — “and there’s no tollin’ how they’ll talk about 
me. There’s women in this town that would dabble up my 
character as they do the dresses they wash dishes in.” 

Presently she motioned to the white-aproned waiter. As 
he drew near her and paused, she commanded: “There’s no 
poison ivy dimin’ ’round me, an’ I ain’t a yellin’ my order 
loud enough to hear it to the depot.” 

The waiter then stood close beside her, and she arose to 
whisper in his ear: 



121 



122 


NORMA LANE 


“Speak out,” he said, “this ain’t no whisperin ’gallery.” 

“You are a polite sort of a thing, ain’t you?” Margery 
snapped. 

“I’m hired to take orders — I’m not hired to go into a 
whisperin’ match.” 

It’s lucky you ain’t hired for your beauty. You wouldn’t 
last as long as the color did in Mrs. Peasley’s new dress — 
that went the first washin.’ ” 

“I don’t see you wearin’ any medals,” replied the waiter. 
“Now, if you want anything, order.” 

In very low tones Margery told her desire. 

“One up,” yelled the waiter. 

It was a modest-sized glass that the woman stared at 
when the waiter had placed it on the table. There was more 
foam than solid beer at that, and Margery dryly asked: “Is 
that ‘one up?’ ” 

“That is,” and he did not attempt to get the nickel she put 
on the table. 

“If that is ‘one up,’ you’d want about nine down to taste 
it. What do you call that, anyway?” 

“That’s Wurzburger.” 

“Wurst bugger — that’s purty good. Put yourself in the 
same class with the beer. You’r the worst bugger I’ve met.” 

“You can go on at the moving picture show amateur nights 
with them ‘gags’ — I’m busy — a dime, please.” 

“A dime for that? Why, man, you’re robbin’ me when you 
take a nickel.” 

“Five cents more now or get out.” 

The waiter had not observed that Cyrus Flood had taken 
a seat at a table near by. The fellow knew Flood and, when 
he heard a sharp rap upon the table near him, turned at 
once. 

“Never mind what she owes you. See what she will have 
and I’ll settle.” 


NORMA LANE 


123 


There was no hesitation on Margery’s part, and when 
Flood remarked that he had seen her at Vance’s office, she 
replied: “Oh, yes. I’m the slave.” 

“By the way, you know Norma Lane, I presume?” 

“Sure I do.” 

“I would prefer not to send a note to her, and yet I am 
desirous of seeing her this afternoon. Would you have time 
to go to her home, and tell her that I would like to see her 
without fail this afternoon?” 

“I might find time,” remarked Margery hesitatingly. 

“I need not remind you that I pay for discreetness as 
well as promptness.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean that you will deliver my message without others 
hearing what you tell her.” 

“Sure, Mike.” 

“Then take this and go quickly,” he said, handing her a 
dollar. 

As Margery was about to leave Aunt Louise drew near, 
and paused as she frowned severely. 

“A nice place for a respectable woman to come. People 
setting around drinking in this shameless manner.” Turning 
to Flood she asked: “Did you see anything of my niece, Elea- 
nor Clay, and Miss Vance — I suppose you know them?” 

“I have not had the pleasure of meeting them this after- 
noon.” 

Aunt Louise adjusted her glasses, and looking sternly at 
Margery and the empty bottle in front of her, said: “I always 
supposed it was hard work made your face so red, but I can 
see now.” 

“If you have your spectacles on right, I suppose you can 
see. It wouldn’t hurt that taller colored face of yours if it 
had a bit of red in it.” 


124 


NORMA LANE 


“If I had to have it red, Td git a paint brush, some red 
lead and flaxseed oil and paint it right.” 

Margery did not wait to hear the conclusion of Aunt 
Louise’s remarks, but hurried away upon her mission. As the 
good lady from the country was watching her departure, the 
orchestra began the prelude to “The Holy City.” Aunt Louise 
was now listening intently to the music. Presently a voice 
began the solo, “Jerusalem, Jerusalem.” 

“You don’t tell me,” she said, “that they sing church music 
here. What kind of service have they got this afternoon?” 

“They have excellent meetings here,” replied Flood, “but 
you have to have a ticket to get in. I have one I cannot use 
this afternoon. While you are waiting for the ladies you 
might drop in and enjoy the services, as you put it.” 

“I don’t care if I do,” she said. “This is surely a strange 
place. They serve the Lord and the devil at the same time.” 

Flood told her where to enter, and as she disappeared he 
withdrew to a secluded spot. He could not understand why 
Norma failed to make her appearance, as usual. As she had 
never encouraged him to call upon her at home, he was 
beginning to get uneasy. 

He realized that he had neglected the business that brought 
him to Lake City, and he recalled also that Mark had failed 
to report to him as he had anticipated. While he was yet 
thinking about the young man, Mark came down the long 
porch, stopping occasionally to look around. He observed 
that the tables were quite deserted. He was about to go into 
the Casino when Flood called out to him: 

“Where have you been, Mark?” he asked. 

“You have not heard, I presume, of the death of my 
mother.” 

“I had not heard of it. Why did you not tell me?” 

“1 have had little opportunity. 1 sent word to you that 
Simon Buchwalter was in town and that we would see you 


NORMA LANE 


125 


before he went home. While I was with him — drinking with 
him, as you may suppose — a man came and told me that my 
mother was dying. I did not neglect her more while at work 
for you than before, but I neglected her, and when I heard 
that she was dying it sobered me. I hurried home. I found 
her near the end, and mother like, she forgave all my mis- 
deeds and neglect. I was by her side when she died.” 

“How did you manage to bury her, did you have money 
enough ?” 

“There was enough money to care for her properly in 
death, if not in life,” said Mark impressively. 

“What became of Buchwalter?” 

“He went home.” 

“Without seeing me — that is strange.” 

“Stranger things than that will likely happen in the near 
future.” 

“What do you mean, Mark?” 

“Up to this time I have tried faithfully to do all you have 
asked me to do, and I consider that you have paid me liberally 
for doing it. I am prepared to give you a statement of my 
expenditures.” 

“That is all right, Mark. Meet me at the hotel this even- 
ing. I know you will need money now, and I’ll give you 
more, but I wish you had sent Buchwalter to me.” 

“You don’t owe me a dollar, Mr. Flood.” 

“You have done all you can for your mother now, and 
tomorrow we must get busy again. I think I have Vance in a 
comer now, and we will finish the job very soon.” 

“Do you know who furnished the money to keep my 
mother alive while I neglected her?” 

“I do not, but let us get away from that subject. I am 
waiting for some one, you know perhaps, to whom I refer, and 
I will see you this evening.” 


126 


NORMA LANE 


Mark did not wait to tell what he had intended. As he 
was about to leave the Casino, a gentleman whom he had 
never met stopped him, and asked if he happened to know 
one Cyrus Flood. Mark told him that Flood was waiting to 
meet some one — “I think, however, it is a lady.” 

“It is very likely he is not anticipating a call from me,” 
replied the stranger. 

Having been told where Flood could be found he hurried 
to meet him before his expected guest should arrive. 

“Is this Mr. Flood?” he asked as he took in every detail 
of the appearance of the supposed agent of the Great North- 
ern. 

“That is my name,” replied Flood. 

“I am Foxhall Standhope, assistant secretary of the Great 
Northern Electric Company. I understand you represent our 
Company here. I believe I have not the pleasure of your 
acquaintance.” 

“I have not been long with the Company,” replied Flood. 
A wave of color swept over his face and receded, leaving it 
paler than before. 

“So I have been led to believe,” was Standhope’s reply. 

“Did you come to assist me, or am I supposed to be re- 
lieved?” 

“So far as the Great Northern is concerned, your labors 
here are concluded.” 

“Is that so?” There was a sneer in his voice. His ef- 
frontery had returned. He saw that he must drop the mask 
he had assumed. 

Standhope did not reply and Flood continued: 

“I am deeply grieved to learn that my services are not 
appreciated by the Company, but I beg to inform you that my 
work is not completed as yet, but will be soon.” 

“So far as your private affairs are concerned, I do not 


NORMA LANE 127 

claim the right to interfere, but as the pretended agent of our 
Company your work, I say, is done.” 

“We will not argue that further. While I do not know 
that you any more than I have the right to say who is the real 
representative, I will not attempt to interfere with your game, 
whatever it may be, but as I am anticipating a call, or an 
interview with a friend, I shall ask you to excuse me.” 

Standhope did not reply. As he turned to leave he met 
Norma coming slowly down the veranda. 

He recognized her, having seen her at Vance’s residence 
the night he arrived. There had been no opportunity for an 
introduction, as Norma and Marion returned immediately 
after the interview with Wilberton Vance — after Jean had 
so chillingly said “Good evening. Miss Lane.” 

The memory of that greeting flashed over her as she met 
Mr. Standhope, for she had caught a glimpse of him and re- 
membered the man and the time. She was pale, and Flood 
recalled that he had never seen an expression upon her face 
so determined; so stern. No smile answered his, as was com- 
mon. 

“I was here this morning,” she said. 

“What was the matter? You have not been particularly 
desirous of seeing me the last few days, it seems.” 

“I have seen you so often that all my friends, save one or 
two, refuse to recognize me when we meet. You know best 
whether I should bear these insults.” 

“I shall be ready to leave here soon and you must go 
with me.” 

“Do you mean that I must go and leave Marion?” 

“I cannot take her along.” 

“You told me when you asked me to be your wife that you 
would soon be rich.” 

“And you informed me that when your sister was of age 
you would come in possession of considerable means.” 


128 


NORMA LANE 


“Was you counting on marrying me for my money?” she 
asked coldly. 

“Let us not quarrel about that. When I get through with 
certain friends of yours I shall be well off. Won’t you have 
something to drink with me?” 

“You know that I will not. Can it be possible that you are 
all my friends say you are?” 

“What are your friends saying about me?” His mocking 
manner left her in a mood to answer plainly. 

“They have told me you were a fraud, an impostor, a liar 
and a sneak, and that you have no honest regard for me.” 

“Is that all they said? They must have been good friends 
of yours. I suppose the gentleman with the broken heart was 
one of these delightful friends.” 

“He is a gentleman. He has committed a great offense 
in your eyes. He has loved me and asked me to be his wife. 
What do you propose to do?” 

“If I do not choose to tell, you will fall back on the dis- 
carded one, I presume.” 

“Will you answer my question? I want the answer now.” 

Before Flood could reply, a message came from the office 
that a gentleman was waiting there for him. 

“Do not go before I see you again. Go and sit through 
the performance. This is an important engagement.” 

Flood encountered Neil Dare as he was hurrying to meet 
the engagement and could not resist the temptation to gloat 
over what he was pleased to consider his defeated rival. “She 
is back there,” he said, as with thin lips drawn he showed 
his teeth like a snarling dog, at least Neil thought so. Flood’s 
face was close to his as he sneered: “Go and whine to her 
now like the puppy you are.” 

“Puppy, you say, puppy?” Before Flood could get beyond 
his reach, Neil slapped him first on one cheek, then on the 


NORMA LANE 


129 


other. “Puppies whine when they get slapped — suppose you 
whine now.” 

Flood made a motion as if about to draw a weapon. 

Neil sprang upon him: “Another move like that and I 
will forget that I try to be a gentleman. Another insulting 
word and I will beat your face into a pulp.” 

“We will settle this later — I have an engagement,” said 
Flood, hoarsely. 

Neil saw that Norma had witnessed the occurrence, and as 
Flood hurried away he went to her determined to know the 
worst, expecting bitter reproaches. 

“Norma, you saw me lose my temper, but he insulted me 
cruelly and I made him know that I was his master, physically 
at least.” 

“Was I the cause of it?” she asked, quietly. 

“Yes and no. He said, ‘I would go to you now, and whine 
like a puppy,’ and then, Norma, I slapped him. I did not do 
him the honor of striking him with my fist. I took my open 
hand and slapped him, and he did not resent it. I await your 
reproaches.” 

“I have not the right now, Neil, to reproach you. I went 
away from you to another, and there is nothing to say, only 
this: You were the first of all my friends to doubt me. I 
have no friends now but Mr. Vance, and, and he whom you 
punished just now. Yes, there is one other — my little 
sister.” 

“Dear little Marion — she is loyal to you, and whether you 
believe it or not, I am quite as loyal. Norma, I love you as in 
that sweeter yesterday before he came.” 

“Don’t, Neil, it is too late.” 

“No, not too late, Norma — come back to me, come back, 
dear.” 


CHAPTER THIRTEEN. 


HERE was a carriage waiting for Attorney Drake 
when he came in on the train from New York. 
The lady that accompanied him was heavily veiled 
and hurriedly they entered the carriage. Although 
the weather was uncomfortably sultry, the blinds 
were drawn. Vance had received a telegram that Drake was 
coming, and he and Dr. Harley were waiting in the office of 
the traction company for him. When they saw a lady step 
from the carriage, they wondered if Drake had not taken a 
wedding journey instead of a business trip. And yet he had 
sent a message to keep watch upon Norma Lane that she did 
not elope with Flood. They were not left long in doubt. Drake 
had been greeted warmly by Vance and the doctor, and he 
said: “You can congratulate me, gentlemen; I found her." 

“It looks like it,” replied the doctor. 

“Why didn’t you tell us, and the ‘fatted calf’ would have 
been ready for the wedding dinner.” 

“The wedding dinner? Well, that is not half as embar- 
rassing to me as it must be to the lady. Permit me — Mrs. 
Kennedy Woodward — Mr. Vance, Dr. Harley.” The gentle- 
men bowed and murmured the usual inanities. 

“Perhaps you may be better enlightened if she takes the 
nom-de-plume of her husband — Cyrus Flood.” 

“Mrs. Flood!” they exclaimed in unison. 

“The man you know as Cyrus Flood is Kennedy Woodward 
of New York City. I made search for the lady and found 
her. She is here at my earnest solicitation. She came will- 



130 


NORMA LANE 


131 


ingly, not merely to confront a renegade husband, but to save 
one of her sex from a life of misery.” 

The doctor was first to give her a hearty welcome, and 
when he released her hand she was laughing through her 
tears. Vance was no less cordial. “You shall go at once to 
my home,” he said. “You are tired, and after a good rest we 
will talk — but first — let me send for Norma. Drake, we 
will keep the carriage for the present, and Marion will go 
and bring her sister here at once.” 

Norma was inclined at first to rebel, but when she learned 
that she was expected to go at once to Mr. Vance’s office or 
his residence that evening she chose to go to the office, where 
there was less chance of meeting Jean. 

Vance was waiting at the curb for Norma, and the girls 
were introduced to Mrs. Kennedy Woodward, who remained 
in company of Drake, until the arrival of the young woman 
she came so far to see. 

So far as Flood was concerned she could have made affi- 
davit, and that together with a copy of the marriage certifi- 
cate would have been sufficient, but a woman’s honor was at 
stake. The man known as Flood had won her love and all 
that was left of the beautiful fabric her fancy had woven was 
ashes. 

“Mrs. Woodward has come all the way from New York to 
see you, Norma,” said Vance. 

The wan-faced woman smiled, and in low, sweet tones, she 
spoke: ”I can understand now that I see you how his fickle 
heart went out to you, Miss Lane.” 

“I do not understand,” replied Norma. 

Vance nodded to his friend Drake to tell the story, much 
of which has been told. 

“You will understand better. Miss Lane, when I tell you 
that the husband of Mrs. Woodward is known to you as Cyrus 
Flood.” 


132 


NORMA LANE 


The wave of red that swept over her fair cheeks quickly 
receded and in her eyes there was a gleam of anger. Neil 
sat at his desk well back of her, but she turned to see what 
his face was telling. He did not look up from his work — it 
was as if the story had no interest for him. She knew that 
he must be glorying in the presence of this woman. That 
Neil was seemingly indifferent did not add to her composure. 

As Norma made no response, Drake continued: “As you 
are doubtless aware, Mr. Flood, as we will continue to call 
him, came here to bring disaster to Mr. Vance, and to do so 
without being detected, as he hoped, assumed the name of 
Cyrus Flood. A few of Mr. Vance’s friends sought to find 
his address. This was accomplished through a letter written by 
this lady, who was obliged to leave the apartments she occu- 
pied when her husband left New York, because he refused to 
furnish her the money to pay the rent unless she made appli- 
cation for divorce, that he might marry a young lady in Lake 
City. He did not give her name. He was too cautious for 
that. Mrs. Woodward has his letter in her possession now, 
and you can see it when you wish. 

“With all his caution,” Drake continued, “he failed to 
destroy Mrs. Woodward’s answer. The letter was torn care- 
lessly and thrown into a waste-basket, where it was found by 
a person whose business it was to gather and keep his torn 
and discarded mail. This letter came into my hands. I had 
business in New York, and I sought and found the deserted 
wife of Kennedy Woodward, alias Flood. This, Miss Lane, is 
the occasion of her presence in our midst.” 

“He told me that he had never been married — that he 
was free to care for me, and listening to his pleading, I prom- 
ised that some day I would marry him. Mr. Vance, who has 
been my good friend, even when all others turned against 


NORMA LANE 


133 


“Norma!” It was Marion who interrupted, “did I turn 
against you?” 

“No, dear, you were loyal, and ” 

“And Neil, too.” Marion went to Neil’s side and, placing 
her arm about his neck, cried: “He was always loyal.” 

“Perhaps,” said Norma. “But I was about to say, that 
when Mr. Vance told me that Mr. Flood was working against 
him, I said I would marry no man who could not look him in 
the face and say, ‘I have been your friend.’ I have not had 
opportunity to tell him of my determination. I felt for a time 
that Mr. Flood was being misrepresented, persecuted, really, 
because he cared for me. Now that I know, I wish to see him 
once more, and if this lady who came to do me this great kind- 
ness will go with me, I shall tell him that women are not all 
false to one another, and that so long as I have a home she 
shall have one — that she is too noble to waste her life on 
such as he.” 

“You lovely one,” cried Mrs. Woodward, and in a moment 
she had Norma in her arms, and the men sprang to their feet. 

“By — memories of Melchizedek, this is just like a play, 
Wilberton,” and switching from the pocket of his long “Prince 
Albert” a handkerchief of generous size, the doctor blew a 
blast, like a bugle call to battle. 


CHAPTER FOURTEEN. 


HE curious reader may wonder why Marion Lane 
was the hired stenographer in the office of Wil- 
berton Vance when it is remembered that Henry 
S. Lane left his children enough to keep them 
beyond the necessity of working for wages. It 
was Marion’s desire, her proposition, and Vance humored her, 
as her work would end when the Seminary term began. She 
had mastered shorthand and was quite proficient, and skill- 
ful as well, with the machine. 

When the August days should come she would go back to 
school, and her music studies. Vance had encouraged her in 
this line, believing that in time she would win fame, for 
nature had made her a musician, and skilled masters would 
make her an artist. 

After the doctor had received the offer of $50,000 for his 
little farm where great oil deposits were found, he told 
Marion, if his fortune did not go up in smoke she should 
go to Europe and complete her studies. 

“Why should 1 go at your expense?” she asked. 

“Well, why shouldn’t you? Vance says 1 will get $100,000 
for the farm, and I believe it. What could I do with one 
hundred thousand dollars? Your grandfather, if he could 
know it, would smile in his old proud way, that his orderly 
sergeant was helping to develop the genius the good Lord 
gave you. Then it would sort of be squaring the debt, child.” 

“Did you owe my grandpapa?” 

“1 owed him my life — that is all, dear.” 


T 


134 


NORMA LANE 


135 


“Tell me about it.” 

“You know the story; I told you not long ago.” 

“Yes, but I want to hear it again, it is all so fine, so 
splendid.” 

He told the story of a cavalry charge. It is not known 
to the world like Pickett’s immortal deed, but the charge of 
“The Light Brigade” was not more daring or more glorious. 

Marion’s work for the day was done at the office, and the 
doctor having frequent consultations with Vance, accompanied 
her home. 

“Come in, dinner will be ready in a moment,” Marion 
said. 

“I’d like to, but dear me. I’ve been neglecting my patients 
shamefully, child.” 

Had he told the exact truth he would have said that pa- 
tients had been neglecting him. On his list there was one 
family able to pay him, all the others were of the class known 
as the “God blessed poor,” and for whose care the doctor 
could render his bill to heaven. 

“You shall neglect your patients a little longer, if you 
please. I have invited you to remain to dinner. I happen to 
know that you are very fond of strawberries and cream, and 
I ordered the nicest berries in the market, and the richest 
cream. I had you in mind when I ordered.” 

In his eyes there was an expression of tenderness, rever- 
ence, awe, as though this girl whose life he had fought for, 
was sacred — holy. “And you thought of me, did you, little 
one?” The pathetic note in his voice touched her, and as 
she struggled to suppress a sob, said: “Come, I’m sure they 
are waiting.” 

When Harold Brady learned from Neil of the arrival of 
Cyrus Flood’s wife he hastened to Vance’s to get Jean’s views 
on the subject. He told her Norma’s offer of a home to the 


136 


NORMA LANE 


woman, and how she had expressed a desire for one more 
interview with Flood, and this was to be in the presence of 
Mrs. Kennedy Woodward. He told Jean how delighted her 
father was with the situation. 

“Now there is just one thing to do,” said Harold, “and 
that is, we must run Flood out of town before he manages to 
get the road into the Courts.” 

“I would like to be present when Flood and his wife have 
their interview.” 

“Norma and you must be friends again. It looks very 
much as if we had been mistaken.” 

“We. You are letting me down easily, ain’t you? Just 
as if you had not defended her all the time. Just as if you 
and papa were not ready to beat me with your fists almost for 
being cruel and suspicious. I did have little faith in her; she 
treated poor Neil so badly, and I do not care much whether we 
are friends or not.” 

Harold was quite certain that her reference to Neil was an 
excuse, an apology for her discourteous act. He had felt all 
the time that Jean had been rash in her conclusions concern- 
ing Norma, yet he offered little protest. One does not protest 
loudly against the views of the girl he loves, particularly when 
these opinions concern one of the sex. He was wise enough 
to know that a quarrel on such a subject was not easily for- 
gotten and he did not want to quarrel with Jean. Her 
piquant sayings, her saucy air, her dashing manner, more than 
her beauty, enthralled him. He knew he loved her in that 
helpless manner that only matrimony cures. Now he was 
ready for that cure. He had waited long, he had wooed 
ardently, sighed deeply, and as the sinking sun left part of its 
glory on her face the spell was deepened. 

“Jean,” he said, “speaking of ‘poor Neil,’ reminds me of 
poor Harold. Do you recall the other night when the moon 
was telling us something? It was only a whisper from the 


NORMA LANE 


137 


lonely man in the moon, and I was about to catch it and 
whisper it to you when ” 

“When papa broke in,” she interrupted. 

“I was going to tell you, dear,” he was saying when she 
signalled for silence. 

“Go on; I was looking for papa. He usually looms up 
when you reach that point in our continued story.” A smile, 
a faint, fleeting smile lingered a moment on her lips, and 
with hands folded in her lap, head drooping like a rose over- 
burdened with its sweetness — waited for the words that 
women sometimes long for. 

She did not wait long. 

“Sweetheart of mine, when will you answer, yes?” 

“Tomorrow,” she said, “maybe tonight,” she murmured, 
“now,” she whispered, “now.” 

“And it is yes?” His eyes were hungry. 

“You would not believe me when I said ‘no,’ what else can 
I say?” 

“Say that you love me, my beautiful one — I have waited 
so long.” 

“Did you never hear me?” she asked. “I have said it so 
often to myself.” The great, red, round face of the sun hid 
itself behind the western hills. 

Eleanor Clay and her Aunt were to return to their home 
on the morrow. The time had been short to Eleanor, but 
Aunt Louise was yearning for the little farm — the farm that 
would be Eleanor’s some day. 

“I wish you were going to stay longer with us,” Vance 
had said at dinner that evening. 

“I’ve been sponging long enough. Sponging and loafing 
around.” 

“You have not been sponging, I can testify to that, and 
as for ‘loafing around,’ as you put it, what do we go visiting 
for?” 


138 


NORMA LANE 


“Well, I’m not one that wants to wear out my welcome. 
My second cousin, Aminidab Wells, from New Jersey, came 
on to visit us one fall, and he stayed and stayed. I don’t be- 
grudge any cheerful body a month’s victuals, but he felt that 
he was payin’ his way with his prayers. I’m not makin’ light 
of religion, an’ I try to lead an exemplary life, but I don’t 
believe that groanin’ an’ moanin’, as if one had a protracted 
case of stomach ache, is servin’ the Lord. Aminidab prayed 
us all into heaven and out of it several times, an’ then I sug- 
gested to him that the prayer meetin’ at Snake Hollow, in the 
State of New Jersey, was waitin’ for him.” 

“You need not feel that we regard you in any light but 
that of a guest that is welcome,” he said, as he suppressed a 
laugh. 

“You and your daughter have been very kind. I can under- 
stand why Eleanor might be more welcome than I am.” 

“Why?” he asked. 

“I’m a cranky old maid, and she is young, an’ nice, I 
think. I know she is a good girl, an’ would make some man 
a good wife. Maybe it sounds silly in me talkin’ that way, as 
if I was tryin’ to rope somebody in, but Eleanor would be a 
wife any man might be proud of. 1 don’t mean that she’s so 
nice lookin’, but she’s one a man could ‘tie to.’ ” 

“I was thinking that myself,” said he. 

“Was you? Well, well, that’s surprisin’. She wouldn’t 
own me agin’ as her Aunt if she knew I said such a thing, 
but if you and Eleanor could just take a notion to each other. 
I’d be willin’ to have the preacher say: ‘All flesh is grass’ — 
‘earth to earth, an’ dust to dust’ — over my remains.” 

“There comes the doctor,” said Vance. 

“Sure enough,” she replied. “Now, if the doctor is your 
friend, don’t leave us to fuss with one another. The doctor 
don’t hanker for me, an’ I’m not a settin’ out on a willow 
limb myself.” 


NORMA LANE 


139 


“Surely not. Ah, doctor, you are welcome.” 

“ ‘As the flowers that bloom in the spring,’ I ’spose we 
should say,” and Aunt Louise adjusted her glasses. 

“The ladies are about to leave us, doctor, 1 am sorry to 
say.” 

“I should think you would hate to go, madame, just as you 
are beginning to enjoy the theater,” said the doctor. 

“That’s a poor joke, doctor,” the old maid replied. 

“1 have some that’s worse than that.” 

“Well, go and bury them, an’ bury them deep;” she spoke 
with great vigor. 

“If I ever stand among the ransomed,” she continued, “an’ 
see any of those miserable girls that was in that show come 
in, through the mercy afforded to man, I hope they’ll have 
more clothes on ’en than they had that day Flood give me 
a ticket to the ‘services,’ as he called it.” 

It was a quiet chuckle the doctor emitted. 

“The lady’s remark about the ransomed reminds me,” said 
the doctor, “of Aunt Sarah Beasley, an old colored woman 
down at Eden. She attended church one day — a white con- 
gregation — there being no colored, and telling me about 
it the next day, said: ‘Dat white man dat preached giv de 
Ransom’s a poke, yisteday.’ ‘How was that. Aunty?’ I asked. 
‘You know. Doc. John, dat dem Ransom’s is stuck up niggers, 
case deys mos’ white. Well, dat preacher jes spoke der name 
right out in meetin’. He said dar was none o’ dem Ransom’s 
ever knowed, how deep was de wattah’s crost, an den sumpthin’ 
bout dere sheep dat got lost, an Lord knows dem Ransomes 
neber had no more sheep dan a rabbit.’ ” 

Aunt Louise looked at him reprovingly, but made no re- 
sponse. 

“Your remarks,” he continued, “concerning the dress of 
those girls reminds me of a passage in the Scriptures — Pro- 


140 


NORMA LANE 


verbs, if I remember aright — ‘He taketh not pleasure in the 
legs of a man;’ the natural inference is ” 

“Never mind the inference, Doctor,” she broke in, “there 
are passages in the same Book more edifying. I would sug- 
gest you read the parable of the man with one talent.” 

“The point of order is well taken,” said the doctor, bow- 
ing defferentiaHy, while Vance laughed heartily. 

During this time Eleanor was engaged in putting the fin- 
ishing touching to her packing. The baggage was as near 
ready as possible and the next day she would be back in 
the village, back to the humdrum life, and “the tall, splendid 
looking man,” she was thinking, would sit no more with her 
in the quaint rustic bower. No more would she listen to the 
deep, low voice, telling her of his work. 

The story of his daily doings was more interesting than 
love tales in the well-stocked library — more interesting than 
a heart story told by the rustic beaux of her home village. 

She knew that Jean and Harold were out there where she 
had sat with Vance. From her window she could catch a 
glimpse of them, now and then. 

Perhaps Harold was telling the oft-interrupted story that 
Jean was willing to listen to now. The low sigh, the unbid- 
den sigh she breathed, the bit of moisture gathering in her 
violet eyes told her what she was persistently denying to her- 
self. 

“Jean thinks I could not love him because he is her father 
and she only a year younger than I,” she thought. Then she 
heard Harold say : 

“Good night, good night! parting in such sweet sorrow, 

That I shall say good night till it be morrow.” 

Rarely had there been a “morrow” that he was not with 
Jean and now she must know and feel the half bitter joy — 
the bitter-sweet of a love story not her own — but Jean’s. 


NORMA LANE 


141 


Her reverie was interrupted by Jean’s tempestuous en- 
trance. 

“Kiss me, Eleanor,” Jean said, as she threw herself in 
the outstretched arms. It was not necessary that Jean should 
tell what had occurred — Eleanor knew — the radiant face 
told it all.” 

When Jean had said: “Good night, my Romeo,” in 
answer to Harold’s borrowed words from the bard’s most 
ardent lover, she returned to the house, where her father was 
being entertained by the doctor and Aunt Louise. Signalling 
him to her side, she said: “Eleanor is going home in the 
morning, and I am going to take her out there on the lawn 
in a moment. It would be merely an act of politeness if you 
sought to make the closing hours of her visit more interest- 
ing than they would be listening to our gabble. I might hint, 
incidentally, that Harold was going to say something to you 
before he left, but I told him that was a mere matter of 
detail — a perfunctory duty that could be attended at any 
time.” 

“Ah! and you have taken my consent for granted?” 

“Haven’t I heard you tell what an excellent ‘esquire’ he 
was? Well, he is my esquire now.” 

“Harold is a good boy, dear,” and he drew her closely to 
him and kissed her.” 

“If I could peek around the corner of the house in just 
fifteen minutes and see you kiss some one else more tenderly 
even than you have kissed me, I would rush out and cry, 
‘bless you, my children.’ I am radiantly happy, but if you 
should come into your own, the love and affection your heart 
will crave, now that I am going to boss Harold instead of you, 
I would feel that the apotheosis of our lives was at hand.” 

“And if she will listen to me, you will be content?” 

“More than content, my papa.” A dash of color swept 
over his face as he stood abashed in the presence of his 


142 


NORMA LANE 


daughter. “Excuse me a moment,” he said to the doctor and 
Aunt Louise. 

He saw Eleanor and Jean stroll down from the veranda. 
He heard Jean say: “I must telephone Harold. He is at 
the club, and he wanted me to call him up, if only to say 
good night again.” 

Eleanor did not hear his approaching footsteps. Nature’s 
carpet on the lawn was soft and green. She started as he 
came suddenly and silently to her. Her cheeks were stained 
as though a rose had left all its color as well as its sweet- 
ness there. 

It was no sighing swain that came to Eleanor Clay. It 
was a man so many years her senior, that he hesitated — 
that was all — but he told the story simply, manfully and with 
tender dignity. Then Eleanor — but why should prying eyes 
and listening ears destroy the sweetness of a heart story. 

“We will tell them all about it. We will say: ‘The trunks 
will be unpacked tonight, and the end of your visit is unde- 
termined.’ ” 

Jean was in the room with Aunt Louise and the doctor 
when Vance and Eleanor paused at the door. Her hand was 
resting lightly, but trustfully, upon Vance’s arm. Jean caught 
a glimpse of the transfigured faces. “Look! Aunt Louise,” 
she cried, “look at that guilty pair. It won’t be Eleanor 
Clay very long.” 

“Glory be ” and the old maid’s hands were folded as 

if in prayer. 

The doctor sat in open mouthed wonder a moment. “Mem- 
ories of Melchizedec, Vance, 1 never dreamed ” he ab- 

ruptly rose and left the rooms. Thoughts of his promised 
fortune faded. What was money? They were mating, these 
friends of his, as all God’s creatures mate, throughout His 
Kingdom, but he — the years had left him stranded — and his 
one beloved was a bit of a girl.” 


NORMA LANE 


143 


He heard Aunt Louise say: “One old maid in the family 
is enough, please God.” Then he turned away and left them, 
uttering no word — no friendly good night. He looked up at 
the laughing moon. It was mocking him. The moon as well 
as the world is wont to mock an old man’s love. 



CHAPTER FIFTEEN. 


YRUS FLOOD had an interview that afternoon that 
was decidedly unsatisfactory. He sought dili- 
gently to find Mark. He visited all the familiar 
haunts, but could find no trace of his late em- 
ployee. The time was ripe to begin proceedings, 
and the home office was making persistent inquiries. The 
fact that Standhope was with Vance prevented any further 
double dealing. Vance, he knew, was now cognizant of his 
purposes and was doubtless repairing the damage as fast as 
possible. What disturbed him most was the disappearance 
of Mark Singleton. “Why could he not be found?” he asked 
himself repeatedly. 

Another thing disturbed him. He had received a note 
from Norma, asking for an interview the next day. She fixed 
the hour at two o’clock — the place where they had met last 
— The Casino. 

“I anticipate you will be greatly surprised,” the note ran 
on, “whether agreeably or not, remains to be seen. I have 
met a very affable gentleman by the name of Standhope. He 
is as fine looking as he is agreeable, but alas, he has not told 
us whether or not he has a wife somewhere in the world, but 
that is the way with men at times. I will be able to tell you 
positively whether I will accompany you when you leave the 
city, and incidentally I predict that you will be leaving soon.” 

“What does she mean, I wonder? What does she know? 
There seems to be a covert threat in that last line — I predict 
you will be leaving soon.’ It is a painful truth, I must leave 



144 


NORMA LANE 


145 


soon, if the case does not get into Court. Haines and Buch- 
walter were to be here, and I must find Mark, as he has been 
arranging matters with them. The time is at hand for them 
to act.” 

He had been sitting in the office of the hotel, looking cut 
upon the street, but no one passed that he knew. Presently 
some one spoke to him, some one entered into conversation 
with him, and drew his attention from the street. While he 
was thus engaged Mark Singleton passed. The young man 
looked in at the open window shaded by the awning, but saw 
nothing of Flood. When at last the agent of the Syndicate 
looked down the street Mark was turning into the avenue that 
led to Vance’s office. Flood immediately followed. 

Singleton being more than a square distant, there was 
neither hope of catching him nor calling him, but he hurried 
on knowing that as long as he kept in sight he would run 
him down somewhere. 

Just as he was about to cross one of the main business 
streets of the city he observed coming toward him, not from 
the direction he was traveling, but at right angles, Norma 
Lane and a veiled lady, who, he thought, reminded him of 
some one. 

“I must keep Mark in sight, or I would ask her what that 
note meant,” was his mental comment as he glanced again 
toward them. 

He had to wait because of a street car blockade, or climb 
abroad a car, that he might pass to the other side. This or a 
detour was unavoidable. As he was considering what should 
be done, the car in front of him moved slowly and Flood 
dashed through. Eagerly he looked for Singleton. The young 
man was nowhere in sight. He increased his gait until it was 
almost a run, but his late employee had unconsciously eluded 
him. He hurried past the street on which Vance’s office was 
located. After going a block or two further he returned, and 


146 


NORMA LANE 


paused a moment, looking all about him. Less than a square 
to the north was Vance’s Traction office. He saw Norma and 
the strange lady stop and lean over the low iron fence. He 
knew that some one had bidden them gather the exquisite 
roses within reach. 

Mechanically he turned and sauntered in that direction. 
It could not be possible that Mark was there. He had 
been seen but once since the death of his mother. It mat- 
tered not, he thought, who the veiled lady was, he would 
talk to Norma. She could not refuse him. He did not want 
to wait until tomorrow to know the meaning of her note. 

While he was yet a half square distant he saw the ladies 
pass in at the side gate, where all the bushes and shrubs and 
flowers were, and they were then out of his sight. 

Vance’s office and property was at the intersection of 
prominent streets. To keep on was to pass the rose lawn, 
to turn westward, at the corner took him past the front office 
door and the window at which Neil sat. 

At thought of Neil his cheeks began to burn, as they did 
when Neil slapped them. He had not sought opportunity of 
revenge yet. It was not time. When a receiver was put in 
charge, he would see to it that Neil should be the first to lose 
his position. That would ease the smart somewhat, and then 
if physical revenge was unwise, he would see to it that Norma 
would be by his side when Neil was ordered to vacate his 
desk. 

He had reached the corner by this time, and leaning 
against the fence a moment, heard merry laughter within. It 
was now no time for dreams, he realized. Neil or Vance 
might appear and he did not relish the idea of being ordered 
away as a common sidewalk loafer, and this Neil would do 
if he saw him. Slowly he drew near the open front door. 
Neil sat with his back to the window. He was in conversa- 
tion with a lady. He stepped near the curb that he might 


NORMA LANE 


147 


see. What he saw caused him to swear terrible oaths, even 
though sworn softly. She, Norma, was smiling into the face 
of the man he hated. “Ah, how I hate him,” he thought. 

“What creatures of whim and impulse women are to be 
sure,” he said aloud — “creatures, that’s the word. A week 
ago Norma had said she hated Neil, and now she is smiling 
into his face. Hell! I can’t stand that,” he hissed. For the 
moment anger and hate blinded him, and when he saw clearly 
again a young man was coming down the steps near him. 
Unconsciously, perhaps, he gasped for breath. The man he 
had been looking for, his employee, his tool, leisurely stroll- 
ing out of Vance’s office, and in an unconcerned manner, 
neither abashed nor startled, paused, indifferently in front of 
him. 

“What were you doing in there?” he asked. 

“I had business there,” replied Mark. 

“Oh, you had? If I know anything about it you have 
business with me.” 

“Then, perhaps, you don’t know anything about it.” 

“Don’t trifle with me, Mark, I’m not in a very pleasant 
mood just now.” 

“You look it.” 

“Be careful, young man.” Flood showed his teeth in an 
ugly manner. 

“I’m much more careful than I was a week ago. Now, if 
you want to talk — if you want to go over matters — let U5 
adjourn to the Wilson House, I’m stopping there now.” 

“On my expense, of course.” 

“No, not on your expense,” returned Mark, calmly. “Not 
on your expense, and not on the expense of the Overland 
Syndicate.” Without further comment they moved away. 
Flood fearing to attract attention and Mark being fearful of 
a face appearing at the window and spoil the plans for the 
morrow. 


148 


NORMA LANE 


When they were seated in a quiet nook in the hotel, Flood 
said: “I would like to know what this means, Mr. Single- 
ton?” He became dignified and formal — threats did not 
seem to have much effect upon Mark. 

“If I recollect aright,” Mark replied, “the last words we 
had was shortly after my mother’s death. Among other things 
I said: ‘Do you know who helped my mother when she was 
ill and I neglected her?’ You said we would not discuss the 
subject further that evening. I was about to tell you that it 
was Wilberton Vance who furnished the money to get her 
the necessaries of life. Now, I am not excusing myself. I 
alone was to blame — liquor or no liquor — for you gave 
me money and asked only an accounting of the money spent 
in your service. That was fine of you, and I have told them 
about it.” 

“Told them — whom did you tell?” 

“Vance and Dr. Harley — and by the way, I feel like 
getting down on all fours like a whipped dog, when I meet 
that old boy. He was her physician, and he stuck to her and 
made no charge. I told Vance and the doctor, when I learned 
all, that I would pay the doctor a dollar or two at a time, as 
I could get the work. Vance then said, that if I would try 
to be a man again, just as 1 was before I began to throw my 
money to the dogs, he would give me a situation where I 
could look a man in the face when my day’s work was done. 

“Of course, I told them,” he continued, calmly, “what I 
had done for you, and what you had done for me, and then I 
said, ‘I will go to Flood, and tell him that I was through. I 
tried to that day, but you put me off — you deferred it. 
Two days after my mother’s funeral I was at work for Vance 
undoing what I did when under pay for you.” 

“You are a nice sneak, ain’t you?” Flood sneered. 

“I would feel that way about it myself if your company 
had been on the square, but they were trying to rob Wil- 


NORMA LANE 


149 


berton Vance of thousands, and I got a hundred or two from 
their agent.” 

“What are you going to do now?” 

“Go right on with my work.” 

“For me?” 

“No, for Vance.” 

“You? You working for Vance? Why, you ” 

“Cut it off there,” and Mark’s smile was more dangerous 
than a frown. 

“After all I have done for you?” 

“Flood, don’t work the pathetic racket, it ain’t in your 
line. I am not here to quarrel. It would do no good. I’ve 
done a lot of dirty work for you, and you paid me for it, and 
so far we are square. This is my home; here is where I 
went to the dogs, and here is where I am going to get back 
among men. Wilberton Vance is going to stand by me, and 
I am going to do the square thing by him. I will be living 
here long after you go away, if nothing happens to me. I 
said I was going to be square with Vance, and to do that, I 
must repair all the damage I did while in your employ. From 
your standpoint it looks like a dirty trick. From the stand- 
point of decency it looks fair. I’m doing it, and I am going 
to keep an eye on you, and if you are as wise as I think you 
are you will leave Lake City without making another move. 
These clothes I have on you paid for. I have the money to 
reimburse you — take it.” 

“I can’t conceive how anyone as low as you was when 
I picked you up can get so virtuous in two weeks, but you 
seem to be playing that part now, and one cannot be such an 
eminently respectable individual in rags, so give me credit 
in your next Sunday School address for that suit and con- 
sider the matter settled. You are entirely disinterested, of 
course, when you suggest that I leave town without making 


150 


NORMA LANE 


another move. Permit me to say, however, that I will leave 
when I get good and ready.” 

“That is your business, not mine,” said Mark, quietly. 

“Thank you.” 

“My advice costs you nothing,” added Mark. 

“The only thing that has not cost me a pretty penny.” 

“Many a man who puts up a big bluff is a poor loser. 
You are inclined to whine, Mr. Flood. Allow me to say that 
I had an opportunity this afternoon to apologize to Miss Lane 
for my contemptible act at the Casino.” 

Flood grew pale, as he sat speechless for a time. With an 
expression of hatred he cried: “Get out of my sight, Mark 
Singleton, before I kill you.” 

“You wouldn’t do anything so rash as that, I hope. That 
is one of your best jokes. Flood. You haven’t nerve enough 
to assassinate me if I was asleep. I have listened patiently 
to your sarcasm and abuse of me. I deserve it, for being low 
enough to work for you, and therefore, do not resent it. 
When Neil Dare got through with you at the Casino, I under- 
stood you were blushing violently; if you get me warmed 
up thoroughly, you will find occasion to use arnica, or a 
lotion to reduce swelling. Now, having made our respective 
bluffs, let us bid each other a regretful farewell. Regretful, 
I think, is the word,” and Mark turned his back upon him 
and leisurely left the hotel. 


CHAPTER SIXTEEN. 


HE telegram from the old fields was sent to Wli- 
berton Vance, for he it was who wrote to the 
men, or the operating company, that desired pos- 
session of the doctor’s farm. He told them that 
fifty thousand dollars would not be considered. 

The little farm so long worthless was in the very center 
of the oil belt, or at least it was said to be. When the tele- 
gram came the doctor was with Standhope somewhere on the 
line of the road. Vance hoped that they would return that 
evening or the next morning, and sent a communication to 
the doctor’s office telling him to get in touch with him at once 
on his return. 

It was near midnight when the gentlemen returned, and 
the doctor did not go to his office. He was there early the 
next morning, however, and when he had read Vance’s note, 
hurried to the office of the traction company. Naturally, there 
was no one about; it was much too early. The local trolley 
cars ran within three blocks of Vance’s residence, and the 
impatient man thought the slowly passing minutes were hours. 

His friend must have important news from the oil fields, 
or his summons would not have been so imperative. When 
at last he reached Vance’s home, there was as little sign of 
life as at the office. A sharp ring brought a sleepy domestic. 
“Is Vance here?” he asked. 

“In bed, I ’spose,” she replied. 

“Tell him I’m here.” 

“I don’t happen to know who you are.” 



151 



152 


NORMA LANE 


“Well, ril have Vance introduce me some day. Tell him 
Dr. Harley is waiting to see him.'' 

When the girl returned she said: “Mr. Vance says he will 
see you at his office at 8:30.’' 

“At 8:30 and this is 6:30 — how am I going to wait two 
hours ?” 

“I don’t know,” she yawned, “shall I go and ask him?” 

“You are an accommodating mortal, but I’ll save you that 
trouble. I’ll go up and see him myself.” 

“And lose me job? Well, hardly,” and she shut the door 
in his face. 

“Je — I wasn’t going to say Jehoiakim, then — I suppose 
if it is good news it will keep,” and he started back to his 
office. 

The doctor was waiting at Vance’s office before the time 
fixed upon, and when the latter arrived, promptly asked: 
“Well, what is the news? There is something or you wouldn’t 
have left word.” 

“You know, I presume, that I wrote to them in your ab- 
sence.” 

“I am aware of it.” 

“And that I held out for $100,000?” 

“Yes.” 

“They wired yesterday that ” and Vance slowly 

searched his pockets for a match. “Here is a match,” ex- 
claimed the doctor, trying without success to look uncon- 
cerned; “now, what do they say?” 

“Where did I put that message? I thought I left it on 
my desk.” He looked through a pile of papers with care- 
ful deliberation. 

“You will lead me in the paths of unrighteousness in 
about a minute, Vance. Suppose you try to recall it from 
memory.” 


NORMA LANE 


153 


“Ah! here it is,” said Vance complacently, as he handed 
the message to his old friend. The doctor was more excited 
than ever he had been in battle, at least he confessed to it 
afterward. His fingers trembled as he opened the envelope. 

“At last,” he murmured. There was suspicious moisture 
in the sharp, gray eyes. “At last,” he repeated. Then turn- 
ing to Vance, he asked: “What do you say? What will we 
do?” 

“What do you say?” 

“What do you think I’ll say — what would you say, if 
all your life you had been poor, all your life you had put up 
the best fight you could and fate had elbowed you to one side 
— what would you say?” 

“I think I’d say,” replied Vance, gently, “that here goes 
for one hundred thousand, for rest, and peace and comfort.” 

“I’m so thankful that I won’t swear, and my substitutes 
don’t seem strong enough, so I’ll adopt that old ‘gag with 
Rip Van Winkle whiskers on it, and ‘take up a collection.’ 
The hat will be passed at once to Snyder and Blake, the oil 
operators.” 

“Right you are, doctor. Can you put your hand upon the 
deed, and such other papers as are needed?” 

“I’ll have them inside a half hour,” said the doctor. 

“Neil, get Drake on the line; tell him to come here as 
quickly as he receives the word, if possible.” 

“And, now what?” 

“If Drake can spare the time, I suggest that he and you 
go at once. It is not so far that you cannot get back in two 
days, and I want Drake, because you might get the worst of 
it in some manner. You don’t look out for Number One as 
closely as you should.” 

By this time Drake was waiting at the phone, and Vance 
asked him if he could leave the city for a day or two, and 


154 


NORMA LANE 


when told that he could, the promoter asked as a personal 
favor that he come to the traction office at once. 

When Drake learned that the doctor had been offered the 
handsome sum for his little farm he congratulated his old 
friend heartily. 

“If they have the cash, we’ll get it, doctor,” he said, and 
arrangements were completed for an early departure. 

Business connected with the road took Vance out of the 
city, and he, together with Drake and the doctor, left on the 
same train. Neil had change of affairs at the office. Mark 
Singleton reported early for duty; Vance, believing that if 
he kept the young man in his employ, he would not fall under 
the influence of Flood so easily, and he was needed to look 
after the men Flood was seeking to control. 

Neil had adopted a wise course with Mark, treating him 
as a companion and friend. They discussed the plans for 
the day, and what might be accomplished during the absence 
of Mr. Vance. 

Flood’s last hope was a man named Haines, whom the 
doctor tried to bring into line, but without avail. 

“I want to see this man myself,” said Mark. “I talked 
him into this thing, and I want to talk him out of it.” 

“You are the one to do it then, and if you can accomplish 
it, it will be ‘feather in both of our caps,’ ” said Neil. 

Thus the work was arranged, and Mark hurried away. 

Marion had just arrived that morning when the telephone 
bell rang and she answered the call. Neil heard her say: 
“Yes, Neil is here, shall I call him? Some one wishes to 
speak to you,” she said, as a happy smile swept over her 
winsome face. 

“Oh, is that you?” she heard him say. All the lines of 
care and worry were gone — only the lines lingered where 
smiles kept their vigils. 


NORMA LANE 


155 


“I’m sure I’d be delighted. I am alone in the office, except 
Marion. Mr. Vance is gone, the doctor too, and Mark has 
just left, so your sister and I are running things here. Could 
you come down?” She heard him say. “If you will come 
down, we will put you in charge — and you can boss the office. 

“And I will rebel, or run away,” and Marion’s eyes were 
dancing. She did not have to ask who was talking. She 
recognized the voice, although Norma had tried to disguise it 
when she found Marion, and not Neil, at the phone. Neil 
repeated Marion’s threat, and added: “We will discharge her 
before Mr. Vance returns. Your sister will call upon us 
presently,” Neil said as he replaced the receiver. 

“It is very nice of you to say ‘us,’ even if it ain’t quite 
correct,” she beamed. 

“But she said so just now,” he persisted. 

“She did not say a word about calling on us when I left 
her a half hour ago.” 

“You know how girls change their minds, sometimes,” he 
said. 

“I know, and sometimes we are very, very miserable, and 
sometimes very happy when girls change their minds,” said 
the wise little maiden. 

It will be recalled that when Flood was following Mark 
Singleton, he stopped in front of Vance’s office and saw 
Norma and Neil talking as if there had been no coldness, no 
bitter hours, no going away. There had been, however, no 
understanding, and neither had there been reproaches. It 
was Mrs. Woodward who had induced Norma to accompany 
her that day. Norma had told her the story of Neil’s wooing, 
of her faithlessness when Flood came. She spared not her- 
self in the telling. She told of their open quarrel at the 
Elks’ social, and what Neil had said. 

“Perhaps it was not quite wise in him to say it, but he 
loved you, he was never faithless, and that, my dear, is 


156 


NORMA LANE 


everything. I would welcome a quarrel with the man who 
loved me as he loved you, if that quarrel was because he was 
suffering from my neglect. If you meet Mr. Dare today, act 
just as you did before you ever saw that fickle man, who is 
trying to disown me. He loves no one but himself. From 
what you have told me concerning Mr. Dare, your happiness 
is his; your affection, if you have it to give, is ever most 
precious to him. The man who loves us for ourselves will 
make us happy. I want you to be happy. You have been so 
sweet and good to me I pray for your peace and happiness. 

'‘As I said,” she continued, “speak to him if opportunity 
presents, as if nothing had occurred ,and see the light come 
back into his eyes, the glow of hope make him radiant 
again.” 

Thus it was, as if nothing had happened, Norma smiled 
upon him in the old way, and Neil could not believe it at 
first. He was speechless, fearing to speak to her, but her 
eyes were upon him and in their depths he saw no glint of 
frost. She saw in his fixed gaze a gleam of hope. She noted 
a new warmth in her heart as she saw the change sweep 
over him. She saw despair die — she saw the love light 
leap into his eyes — and she was content. 

Since that hour when Flood looked in upon them they 
had not met. Marion, wise beyond her years, had said little 
to either of them, believing that time would heal the wounds 
fate had made. 

“Marion, my little sister,” Neil said, “I know you have 
an abundance of flowers at home, but you know the prettiest 
roses in the lawn there, and while I run away to get shaved 
and fixed up a bit, you gather the finest bouquet for Norma 
you can, maybe she will like it, coming from us.” 

“From us — yes from us — my big darling brother. Neil, 
are you going to be my really brother, you’ve got to be. I’ve 
called you brother so much, I won’t have it any other way. 


NORMA LANE 


157 


and no brother ever had a little sister who loved him more 
than I will love you.” 

“Dear little girl, when everything was dark to me, your 
faith and affection was like the gleam of a star whose light 
is eternal. When you gather those roses remember they are 
blushing because you are sweeter than they.” 

“That is delightful, Neil, but save that pretty speech for 
Norma, for I’ll love you just the same — and 1 won’t tell her 
either, if you do.” 

When Norma came, Marion pretended surprise, and asked 
why she did not tell her she was coming. 

“I did not think I was coming to see you,” Norma laughed. 

“I am glad you came, anyway, you can see what busy 
people we are,” said Marion. 

“You seem to be rushed somewhat this morning.” 

“I gathered all these roses for Neil, at least.” 

“You gathered those roses for your sister,” Neil remarked. 

“But, at your command.” 

“Is that the proper word — command?” he asked. 

“I heard you tell Norma over the phone that if she came 
she could boss the place, so please give the boss your roses,” 
and Marion placed the bouquet in his hands. 

“They were gathered for you, Norma, not that you are 
without these fragrant Children of Earth, but these are meant 
as a peace offering laid upon the altar of hope.” 

“Is a peace offering needed?” Norma asked. 

“The Patriarchs had burnt offerings — sometimes they 
were peace offerings — and sometimes they were expressions 
of faith and thankfulness.” 

“And these are meant ” and Norma paused, her cheeks 

taking on the tint of the roses. 

“And these are meant,” he repeated, “as a covenant.” 

“A covenant?” Norma turned toward the desk where 
Marion had been but a moment before — Marion was not 


158 


NORMA LANE 


there. Silently she had slipped away and left these two to- 
gether; of all the world she loved them most. Perhaps — 
but that was not yet — now, at least, her thought was wrapped 
in these, and with throbbing heart and half-filled eyes, she 
had disappeared as silently as sun rays go when clouds inter- 
vene. In such a moment as came to these — Neil and Norma 
— pausing on the threshold of happiness, lips fail to utter 
what the heart is prompting. 

“Norma,” he said, his gaze not upon her who filled the 
foreground of each thought picture, but at the distant hills, 
the green, wooded hills where the birds were wooing, and 
telling their loves in song. “Norma, I told Marion when she 
went to gather those flowers that she would find the roses 
blushing because she was fairer than they, so I say to you — 
accept my offering, be it what it may, and in their bloom you 
see yourself — in their fragrance what I hope for.” 

“You are always saying nicer things to Marion than to 
me,” she pouted. 

“I do not mean to. I say things to her because she is 
your sister.” 

“And because she deserves them more than I.” She saw 
his unspoken protest, and continued: “Yes, Neil, she does. 
When I was faithless, she was true. The man who came 
between us is dead. Not in a literal sense, but dead to me. 
If I were gone from out your sight, you would turn to 
Marion. It would be easy for you to love her.” 

“I love her now,” he interrupted, “and I want her always 
as my sister, even as I want you — to be my wife.” 

Her face was buried in the mass of roses. He could not 
read what might have been plain, but for the flowers that 
stood as woman’s defense in the moment of her trembling. 
“Neil, you can’t love me now, when you remember that I 
went away, as I told you ” 


NORMA LANE 


159 


“But you are back now, dear,” he said, tenderly. “Norma, 
haven’t you come back? I have loved you all the time — I 
will love you on after my tongue is silent, after my lips are 
sealed, after my eyes are closed.” 

“Oh, Neil, don’t. I can’t think of that hour, not now, 
Neil, not now.” 

In a moment she was in his arms. In a moment her red, 
passionate lips were answering his. 

The soft eyes that looked on were wet, but each tear 
that fell was such a happy tear that the angel who waits to 
record the loves of earth caught them up to keep for a remem- 
brance. 

Even in their new found happiness they felt her presence, 
rather than saw it. 

“You here?” they both exclaimed. 

“Yes, why not? I’ve been out there telling the roses to 
put up their sweet, silent prayers to Heaven for this moment 
— and they did.” 



CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. 


ORMA had told Neil of the proposed meeting with 
Flood, and how Mrs. Woodward should appear at 
the proper moment. Neil requested that the meet- 
ing occur on Saturday afternoon, for Norma had 
asked him to be present. ‘T want you near me,” 
she had said, ‘'and I wish it were possible that you could 
hear what we shall say, but you will be with Mrs. Woodward^ 
and remain out of his sight until I signal.” 

Thus it was arranged, and as Flood was expecting the 
interview to be that afternoon, Norma sent word that cir- 
cumstances compelled her to defer her coming until Satur- 
day. 

Flood was disappqinted and expressed his disapproval in 
a note that was unusually dictatorial. 

‘‘I am not only surprised, but annoyed that you should 
take it upon yourself to postpone a meeting for which I have 
made special arrangements,” he wrote. “I may not always 
be so complacent and you may realize some day that you will 
be happier by deferring to me occasionally. This one time 
I will yield to your whim.” 

Norma placed the communication in Mrs. Woodward’s 
hands, and when the deserted wife had read it, exclaimed: 
‘‘How like him that is. His selfish nature shows in every 
line.” 

‘‘I have just thought of something,” Norma said, “some- 
thing that will send a chill through him if we can manage to 
get the letter posted. If the idea meets your approval, we 



160 


NORMA LANE 


161 


will consult Neil ; he will find a way to accomplish it.” Norma 
then explained how a letter from her, Mrs. Woodward, be 
sent him, and the letter be posted in a city quite remote from 
New York. The letter should say that from an unexpected 
source you had received money and was visiting friends, and 
that you had decided to accept his offer, and was now await- 
ing the thousand dollars he had agreed to give you. 

The plan met the approval of Mrs. Woodward, and they 
set out immediately to see Neil, and get his views upon the 
subject. Neil promptly endorsed the idea and told how a 
friend whom he could trust lived in Columbus, Ohio, and the 
letter bearing the post mark of that city, would leave him 
wondering what it all meant. The missive should be sent at 
once, and he would write his friend to post immediately the 
enclosed letter to the person addressed. 

Jointly they indicted the following: 

Columbus, O., June 26, 19 . 

Mr. Kennedy Woodward, alias Cyrus Flood: 

My Dear Sir — I can no longer address you as my dear 
husband, although husband you are, as yet. I pity the young 
woman you say is waiting to marry you. How little she 
knows of you, and how quickly she will regret her great mis- 
take. Poor girl, she will learn all too soon that you are not 
what you pretend. 

A dear friend lives here, and she has asked me to make 
her home my home, and now I wait for you to keep your 
word with me. The thousand you promised, if I will apply 
for a divorce, must reach me soon or I will visit Lake City 
in the very near future. 

You are doubtless wondering how 1 have money enough 
to travel and visit. It came in a most unexepected manner — 
a friend I had forgotten — I might say, but a friend, never- 
theless. 


162 


NORMA LANE 


“I will look for a letter at once — address general deliv- 
ery, postoffice, Col. O. Jessie.'’ 

“That is all right,” said Neil. “The letter I have written 
tells just enough to cause my friend ‘Billy’ to act promptly.” 

A special delivery stamp was affixed and the letter posted. 
“This will reach Flood tomorrow evening ,and put him in 
humor for the interview with Norma,” and Neil’s trustful 
smile showed that perfect confidence in the girl he loved, the 
confidence the sex demands. 

Standhope was waiting for Vance when he returned, and 
after brief instructions to Neil in regard to certain work, 
hastily left in company with Standhope, announcing their 
return in time to meet the doctor and Drake. 

It was not Drake’s purpose to make known their presence 
on their arrival at the oil fields. He impressed upon the 
doctor the importance of getting a knowledge of the situation. 
Ostensibly they were there to secure oil lands rather than to 
sell. They soon found that few were trying to sell, but 
many were seeking to lease or buy the farms that once were 
considered comparatively worthless. 

Drake did the talking, while the doctor appeared in the 
role of a capitalist looking for an opportunity to invest in 
oil lands. In this guise he was able to look over his farm for 
the first time. 

When they came to the office of the man who had offered 
$100,000 for the farm, Drake remained in the background 
while the doctor made inquiries in regard to the possibilities 
of purchasing or leasing a place known as the Harley prop- 
erty. 

“The man who owns that place lives in or near Chicago,” 
said the agent, unblushingly. 


NORMA LANE 


163 


“I would like to meet him and talk over matters,” said the 
doctor with assumed indifference. 

“If you have money enough you can get it tomorrow, per- 
haps. Our company expects to close with the man today,” 
was the reply. 

“Will one hundred and fifty thousand be any inducement?” 
he asked. 

“It might have been yesterday, but it is worth more to- 
day.” 

“Well, why I’d like to know?” 

“Doubtless you would like to know, but that is our busi- 
ness. We had trouble in locating the man. We found him. 
You might drop in tomorrow with a certified check, and we will 
talk it over.” 

“I’ll see you again,” said the doctor, and he soon rejoined 
Drake. 

In the meantime Drake had not been idle. He found a 
man who was willing to talk, and he, too, had been trying to 
get trace of the much-wanted Dr. Harley. 

“I would give a handsome sum for the place, if I can get 
him before the Standard gets its long fingers upon him. I’ll 
make a thousand a day.” 

“I’ve been making inquiries about this Dr. Harley,” said 
Drake, “and I have got trace of him .” 

“The devil you say?” exclaimed the oil man, “do you 
expect to buy?” 

“I have not the money to do it or I would, but I’m here 
to earn a few dollars if I can legitimately.” 

“There is five thousand in it for you if you lead me to 
Harley and he takes my offer.” 

“Will you give me an idea what that offer will be?” asked 
Drake, coolly. 

“We don’t do business that way in this neighborhood, but 
I might offer $80,000.” 


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“I am told he has been olfered more.” 

“Don’t let us beat around the bush in this manner. As 
the boys say, ‘I’m from Missouri,’ show me and I’ll talk busi- 
ness.” 

“I’ll be frank with you — I’m Dr. Harley’s agent, with 
power to sell. I’ll say, however, that money talks. It must 
be certified check or New York draft.” 

“That part is all right, but I want to see the deed. I want 
to know that the land is mine when I pay for it.” 

“A clear title will pass into the hands of the man who 
buys when his check is shown to be as safe as Harley’s docu- 
ments.” 

“The deed is recorded in the county seat, I suppose?” 

“It is,” said Drake. “I must see some one else, however. 
Let me say frankly, that Snyder & Blake have offered more 
than you, and I came here to close with them. My meeting 
you was accidental. I am here to do my best for a man who 
is as honest as he is poor. It matters not whether it is Sny- 
der & Blake, or you, Mr. ” 

“Calligan, of Pittsburg,” said the man. 

“Well, Mr. Calligan, you have the truth, at last, all but 
one fact — Dr. Harley is here. I can get him in ten min- 
utes.” 

“Get him.” The grim, firm mouth shut like a steel strap. 
“Let me say, I know Snyder & Blake; they are all right, they 
will do what they say, but you’ll wait for the money. They 
will pay it, never fear, and if you are not in any hurry for the 
cash they are as good as anyone. I don’t like to knock, but 
these are facts.” 

“Here comes Dr. Harley now,” said Drake. 

“I’ve been trying to buy my place, but I find that prices 
have advanced on me,” said the doctor, a merry twinkle in 
his eyes. 

“Dr. Harley, Mr. Calligan, of Pittsburg.” 


NORMA LANE 


165 


“Buying or selling?” The doctor’s affluent appearance 
belied him. 

“I’m trying to buy your farm. I’m going to town. You 
have ten minutes to make up your mind,” said Calligan. 

“You are as laconic as ‘Finnegan,’ ” replied the doctor. 

“Who the h — 1 is Finnegan?” asked Calligan. 

“I couldn’t tell you in ten minutes, and it don’t matter 
anyway — he wasn’t in the oil business. What is your offer?” 

“I offered this gentleman $5,000 to put me next to Dr. 
Harley. That offer goes, providing ” 

“Providing what?” asked the doctor. 

“That you want to take a hundred thousand for your 
farm.” 

“Cash?” 

“Cash.” 

“We go to town, Drake.” 

“What about Snyder & Blake?” asked the lawyer. 

“It is their misfortune that they wasn’t looking when the 
hammer dropped,” replied the doctor. 

When all the details were completed and the draft was put 
away in reverent awe in the old man’s worn pocket book, the 
man from Pittsburg said: “Tell me about that Mick, Fin- 
negan.” 

“Oh, he was the man,” laughed the doctor, “the old sec- 
tion boss, or something of that kind, who sent in the shortest 
report of a wreck on record. ‘Off again — on again — gone 
again, Finnegan.’ ” 

“If you run across the fellow, tell him he can get a job 
from me — Calligan.” 


CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. 


T WAS Harold Brady who wrote the story of the oil 
find on the farm owned by Dr. Harley. He took 
occasion to tell how the doctor, ever generous and 
ever considerate to the poor, remained poor him- 
self because he failed to press his patients for 
services rendered or caused them annoyance by presentation 
of bills each month. 

He told how the farm came to be in the doctor’s posses- 
sion, and how, sometimes, it became a burden to him instead 
of a source of income. Succinctly he related the story of its 
purchase by the Pittsburg oil man. 

The newspaper congratulations were re-echoed by citi- 
zens of Lake City, who if they knew the worthy doctor, had 
not made the knowledge manifest. In homes where the name 
of Jno. P. Harley was as one who had never been, he was 
spoken of as a most estimable man, and one whose wide 
knowledge as a practitioner placed him at the very front of 
his profession. Lake City was not unlike other cities. 

The fortune, which would be considered unworthy of 
mention in the greater cities of the country, was one that 
loomed up mightily in a town where great fortunes were 
unknown. Had this sum been acquired, dollar by dollar, and 
by hard-fisted methods, it might not have attracted special 
attention even in Lake City, but it came all unexpected, and 
he who had received but scant attention and few honors at 
once stepped into the lime light of the little city. 

Outside of a few devoted friends who knew him, it was 
old Doc. Harley, but Dr. Jno. P. Harley, the man with the 


] 

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167 


hundred thousand, was deemed worthy of all consideration. 
Some who had never mentioned his name before were 
pleased to relate marvelous cures and most intricate and won- 
derful operations. 

It was over at his old home — Eden, however, that it 
assumed the miraculous. Here it was looked upon as a special 
act of Providence. The escape of the Children of Israel from 
Egypt was now an event of ordinary moment. When Joshua 
stayed the sun on its majestic course, he had demonstrated 
what man might do with Omnipotence at his side, but here 
was Doc. John, an old friend, who found no night too dark, 
or blast too bitter when suffering called him — and he had 
been singled out by the Holy Power that moves the universe 
for special consideration. Old Doc. John, no longer poor — 
miracle of miracles. 

Neighbors of Abe Thomas were wont to drop in after the 
evening chores were done, and talk it over. 

“Abe, have you seen him since?” one would ask. 

“Do you reckon he’ll buy one of them ‘toot wagons’ now 
that he’s rich?” another would wonder. 

“I haven’t seen him,” Abe would answer, “but one of 
these days he’ll come ridin’ along jist like he uster — the 
same old slouch hat, an’ the same old long tailed coat, an’ 
the same old smile. Nebicudneezer that seen the hand-writ- 
in’ on the wall an’ was told that he had been weighed in 
a balance an’ found wantin’ was turned out on pastur’ for 
his pride, but old Doc. John will keep on a eatin’ chicken 
with us, and bring down the scales as he uster.” 

It is getting ahead of the story, perhaps, but one day he 
came riding down the road on his bald-faced pacing mare, 
and not only Abe and his family came out on the porch to show 
him that they were at home, but the near neighbors saw him 
and answered the friendly wave of his hand. Work was over 
for that day, or at least as long as the doctor remained. The 


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smart new suit he wore in the city, that made him look ten 
years younger, was put away in the new clothes press he 
had bought. He came dressed as Abe had predicted. He 
had made the excuse to himself that the mare was still shed- 
ding and his new suit would be half ruined, but he knew 
that it would not be their old friend that was coming if he 
put away the old suit. 

“Well, ril just bet fifty cents. Sister Thomas,” he said 
in his breezy, familiar way, “that Tm in time for dinner, and 
some of that cold ham of yours will fill an ‘aching void,’ as 
the preacher says.” 

“You’ll git your dinner. Doc. John — I — I — should say 
Dr. Harley,” she stammered. 

“Malinda Thomas, if I ever hear you putting on airs with 
me again. I’ll give you such a dose the next time you call me 
that you won’t be able to lift your head off the pillow for a 
week,” he said. 

“She began to laugh, but when her lips trembled in spite 
of her she answered huskily: “The Lord didn’t let you make 
a fool of yourself, an’ I praise His Holy Name.” 

“Amen to that, Malinda,” and the old slouch hat was lifted 
reverently. 

“You used to like a bowl of bread and milk. Doc., an’ 
if you’ll have some to kind of stay you till dinner’s ready, it 
will be right there on the kitchen table. Abe was so slow 
a gettin’ the chicken, I hain’t got it picked yet,” she said. 

“Never mind the chicken,” replied the doctor. “I came 
to take pot luck with you.” He had observed the anxious 
look that came into Abe’s honest face, and he rightly guessed 
that no chicken had been caught yet. 

“Dave,” said the farmer to his hired man, “take Doc.’s 
horse to the barn and feed it, an’ then help mother with the 
chicken.” 


NORMA LANE 


169 


The doctor availed himself of the invitation to partake of 
the rich milk and the generous slices of sweet, white bread 
baked in the big oven back of the kitchen. Then long after the 
time for the farm dinner he delighted the heart of the good 
woman by his onslaught upon her delicious little biscuit, and 
all the good things she knew so well how to prepare. She 
knew what he liked best and they were all before him in 
bewildering abundance. 

“I just had to come out and get one of your dinners, Mrs. 
Thomas. I’ve been eating at the hotel, and some way, they 
leave something out of every dish and you have that some- 
thing in, so that I am forced to sit here and growl at my 
stomach for its miserly way of shutting me off when I want, 
at least, a spoonful of every blessed good thing you have 
here.” 

“Dear me. Doc, I wish you’d try an’ eat somethin’.” 

“I’ve eaten enough now to make a famine in town,” he 
said, and thus delighted the generous soul that had provided 
so bountifully. 

“I want you to be sure and come Thanksgivin’, for the 
turkeys have done well this summer — come whether the road 
is ready or not — you know the way. Speakin’ about the 
road,” continued Mrs. Thomas, “I was sayin’ to Abe last night, 
sez I, I’ll jist bet a hen egg that Doc John will lay that for- 
tune of his at the feet of Mr. Vance, for he’s so everlastin’ 
free-hearted. An’ 1 said to Abe, too, that it jist seemed as 
the Lord wouldn’t let that road run through this farm till 
Doc had a hand in it. I believe that was settled when the 
foundations of the earth was laid.” 

“That is pretty strong foreordination. Sister Thomas,” the 
doctor answered. 

One or two of the neighbors called that afternoon, and 
insisted that he stay all night in the neighborhood, as his old 
friends would like to meet him again and talk about the won- 


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derful fortune that came to him, and finally he consented, 
when Abe said: “I want him to stay all night here, and I’ll 
send Dave around to tell a few of the folks to come in this 
evenin’.” 

The neighbors needed no urging and when night had come, 
the sitting room was filled and the porch also. 

In simple, halting, but heartfelt words they congratulated 
Doctor John, and wished him well with his money. They 
remembered how when sickness fell upon them he came 
bringing cheer and hope in his face. They recalled how he 
was wont to join in their merry-makings, and how he was 
the jolliest one at their weddings. 

Old Grandmother Spencer, a devout woman, was there — 
one of her grandsons brought her over in the carriage. ‘T 
had to come, too,” she piped, her shrill treble trembling, 
quavering, as the voice of the aged halt in song. “I had to 
come an’ tell you how glad I am. I know very well what 
you have done for us an’ how poorly we have paid you, 
often ” 

“Don’t, grandmother,” he broke in. 

“Yes, I will say it. You know the Master said — an’ you 
never professed Him, Doc John — ‘Inasmuch as ye did it unto 
the least of these, ye did it unto me,’ an’ that’s what you did 
all your life; an’ it jest seemed to me as if the Lord said: 
‘If these people over there at Eden won’t pay him, I will,’ 
and He sent the oil to your little farm. He will try you out 
a while, jest to see if you will be like you used to — plain 
and manlike. The Presidin’ Elder said yesteday he wished 
he could lead Doctor John Harley into the Kingdom.” 

“Grandmother! I’d rather have your feeble old hand 
guiding me into the paths of eternal peace than these men. 
Your faith is sweeter, your life less selfish,” said the doctor 
with deep emotion. 


NORMA LANE 


171 


“Let me tell you a story,” he continued, “a true story, and 
while it happened away off from here where the winters are 
long and dreary, when I heard it it appealed to me, for it 
explains my faith, my religion. Like this old fellow in my 
story, a man may have his hours of weakness, but if he 
laughed at the cannon as it roared at him, 1 want to take his 
hand. 

“The story concerns two men and two little children. A 
man known as Captain Tuttle was one, and old Si Smith was 
the other. Si had been a good soldier, only sometimes, when 
he could get liquor, then he had a season at the guard house 
or a stunt at carrying a rail. Si had two children — a boy and 
a girl. The boy, the elder of the two, was only 10 years of 
age when the tragedy occurred. Smith lived a mile or two 
from the home of Captain Tuttle. The mother of these little 
ones had gone to rest and Si was letting the children grow 
up in that little humble home, near an inland lake, uncared 
for, uncombed and unkempt. When he was sober for any 
length of time, and these occasions came, he had some neigh- 
bor woman prepare clothes for them. In summer, however, 
particularly when he spent days and nights in the groggery 
near by, they amused themselves much like the pickaninnies of 
the plantations before the war. 

“One cold winter night Si said: ‘Go to bed, children, and 
let the fire go out in the stove, mebby I won’t be home ’fore 
11.’ The country saloon was on the other side of the lake, 
which was frozen over. The old fellow reached the saloon, 
but did not stay as long as he intended. It was told after- 
ward that he did not drink as much as usual and was fairly 
sober when he started back home. When near midway over 
the lake he slipped and fell. In the light coating of snow 
could be seen the marks where he had struggled to get to 
his feet. It was useless. His leg was broken. He doubtless 
called for help, but no human ear caught the cry. In the 


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home, where the windows were broken and in which old 
clothes were stuffed to keep out the cold, the children were 
nestling close to each other to keep warm. They were fast 
asleep; they heard no cry. 

“The night was very cold and the helpless man knew that 
the end was at hand. 

“A day passed and the little ones were waiting. All that 
they could find to eat was soon made away with, and when 
they grew hungry the boy found his way, as best as he could, 
to the home of Captain Tuttle. He told how they were left 
alone. The lad said he and his sister were hungry, and while 
the Captain was getting ready to look for the poor ‘bum’ of 
a father, Mrs. Tuttle fed the hungry boy and prepared a bas- 
ket of food for the little girl. 

“It was not long until the body of the old soldier was 
found. The snow had drifted over him. Nature had wrapped 
him in its own white sheet. The captain decided that the 
funeral would be held from his home — more of the neigh- 
bors might come in. He had purchased the casket and had 
him decently prepared for burial. Then he called upon a 
minister near by to come and offer a prayer and say a few 
words to those who might care to pay respect to the memory 
of — not the poor, neighborhood drunkard — but the soldier 
who had stood up as brave as the bravest on many a battle- 
field. The minister was sorry, but he had an engagement 
which prevented. Captain Tuttle sought another, but he said 
he was really too ill to go such a stormy day. So it was that 
when the hour come and the neighbors were gathered in the 
sitting-room where the veteran lay asleep, the captain arose 
and cleared his throat once or twice. He had been sitting 
beside the little boy and girl. The little fat hand of the girl 
rested tightly in the hand of her brother. He had noticed 
this. When he attempted to speak he could not say anything 
at first. 


NORMA LANE 


173 


“ ‘My neighbors,’ he said, finally, ‘the most of you knew 
old Si; the most of you knew little that you could say in his 
praise. He is lying there silent; he can’t make any excuse 
for himself; he has told his story ere this, perhaps, to his 
Savior, who, I have faith to believe, is more merciful than 
some of His servants who refused to come here today and 
say a word or offer prayer. His failings, and they were many, 
I leave with God. I wish to ask you, my neighbors, if you 
ever had any hard work to do — behind the threshing ma- 
chine, butchering in the stormiest days of winter, putting 
away your hay in the mow the hottest days of summer and 
you needed Si, did he ever, I ask you, refuse to come? Where 
the hardest and most undesirable work on the farm was to be 
done, there you found Si. 

“ ‘I knew him, my friends, at his best. I saw him stand at 
Chickamauga, right out in front of the line, fighting like a 
demon; I saw him on the Atlanta campaign, where we all 
grew tired of fighting — that hundred days of battle and of 
hardship. He never went to sick call; but the bugle never 
sounded or the long roll beat that Si was not in line ready 
for duty. I wish he had been as ready to go on this, his last 
trip, his last march. May we not hope, though, that even a 
sinner like Si, may find rest after the marches, and the 
fighting.’ 

“When the neighbors had wiped the tears out of their 
eyes and looked down into the white, peaceful face, they knew 
that the ministers who could not come were not needed. 

“The children were taken to the home of the captain. He 
and his good wife were getting along in years, and so they 
decided that they would find homes for the homeless little 
ones. The boy was placed first. Then, one day, a hard-vis- 
aged woman came and said she had a place for the little girl. 
She made an effort to say kindly things to the child, who 
opened her big eyes, as she crawled under the shelter of John 


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Tuttle’s arms and looked at the woman as one looks at a 
snake. ‘Just leave her; I’ll bring her over tomorrow,’ Tuttle 
said. Mrs. Tuttle went along and the little one sat between 
them, holding tightly to Mrs. Tuttle’s hand. All the child’s 
belongings were folded and fastened in a red handkerchief. 
The captain took her hand and carried the bundle to the 
house. 

“ ‘Well, you’ve come, have you?’ said the woman, with an 
attempt to be pleasant. The captain had handed the bundle 
to the child, who held fast to it. Then he said good-bye and 
turned away. When he got into the carriage he saw a pathetic 
little figure at the closed gate. In her hand was the bundle, 
and her lips were quivering. She made no outcry, but that 
appealing look in her eyes hurt the old soldier like a bayonet 
thrust. He drove on. Occasionally he looked back and the 
child was still at the gate looking after them. When they 
came to the forks of the road, where he turned toward the 
city, the old gray mare he was driving fell flat on her side — 
fell as if she had been shot. 

“Captain Tuttle sprang from the carriage. He helped the 
mare to her feet and looked for the stone or whatever it might 
have been that caused the animal to fall. He could discover 
nothing. As quickly as he could he turned back toward the 
house they had just left. 

“ ‘What are you going to do, John?’ his wife asked. 

“ ‘I’m going to obey God, of course,’ he replied. 

“ ‘What do you mean?’ 

“ ‘Don’t 1 know when He tells me through that sure- 
footed old mare to do my duty? There wasn’t a thing there 
to make her fall. God Almighty said, just as plainly to me as 
He could speak, “John Tuttle, 1 saved your life in many a 
danger and I brought you home, are you going to leave that 
little orphan girl v/ith that woman?’’ 


NORMA LANE 


175 


“ ‘Tomorrow I'm going after the boy and then we will go 
to the probate judge and they will be ours, wife.’ 

“The child was yet standing at the gate when they drew 
near. She looked up at him through tears and a smile broke 
on the quivering lips. He opened the gate. ‘Come on, dear,’ 
he said. She sprang into his arms. He did not even go to 
the house to say to the woman that he had changed his mind. 

“All the way home he drove with one hand. His left arm 
was about the child. Long before they reached home she was 
asleep, her head resting on a great, loving heart.’’ 

The doctor’s story ended, they said good-night, these old 
friends, and he and Abe followed them into the yard, and 
watched them go away. The doctor sat on the porch smoking 
and dreaming of the night — of these simple folk with hearts 
of gold — while Mrs. Thomas went to a drawer and took 
therefrom a quilt of many pieces that had taken the premium 
at the county fair. It had never been used. 

“It seems to be blowin’ up from the north and Doc John 
might get chilly in the night,’’ she said. 


CHAPTER NINETEEN. 


T was Saturday morning. Norma, while not given 
to fits of depression, confessed to an attack of 
the nerves over the anticipated meeting with 
Flood. Mrs. Flood or Mrs. Woodward — to each 
name she answered with protest — was not in the 
least agitated. “Some day,” she said to Norma, “it will be the 
old name I bore in childhood, the name I love, Jessie Carrol- 
ton.” Her grandfather was a famous man in his day — a 
Virginian with a Virginian’s pride of family and state. Re- 
verses came; her father died in early manhood, and the 
young girl helped her mother bear life’s burden until death 
beckoned. 

There was not much money left when Flood, or Wood- 
ward, came, but it was not long until all she had was dissi- 
pated, and then this gilded dragon fly of a husband fluttered 
away. 

They discussed the coming meeting at two o’clock that 
afternoon, and planned what they would do and say. Norma 
and Mrs. Woodward were not the only persons in Lake City 
who were looking forward to that meeting. There were Wil- 
berton Vance, Neil Dare, Dr. Harley and Foxhall Standhope, 
who felt certain that they would be needed. These gentlemen 
were all in Vance’s office that forenoon, and they were there 
when Mark Singleton came in with the report that Haines 
was in the city and was closeted with Flood — at least he 
could not be seen. 

“Will any of you gentlemen be at the Casino this after- 
noon?” he asked. 


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NORMA LANE 


177 


Each one present signified his intention of being a guest 
of that resort during a portion of the afternoon, at least. 

“While there are enough without me, I think I had better 
go, too,” Mark said. “I had dealings with Haines, and if worst 
comes to worst, I will deal with him again, but in a manner 
none of you might care to indulge in.” 

“What do you mean, Mark?” asked Vance. 

“Haines is a very determined old fellow. If Flood has 
given him money enough he will do anything asked of him.” 

“But the Court House will be deserted this afternoon,” 
remarked the doctor. 

“It is not a difficult matter to get the proper official when 
he is needed, and I’ll venture to guess Flood has everything 
arranged. I had better be present, Mr. Vance, if you have 
nothing special on hand.” 

“Certainly, Mark. We will all be there, and if this dele- 
gation cannot cope with one man we had better go into retire- 
ment,” replied Vance. 

While they were discussing the possibilities of an injunc- 
tion Drake came in. 

“What! have I broke in on a secret caucus?” he asked. 

“You find assembled here a lot of poor orphans, sup- 
posed to be at the mercy of a merciless individual by the 
name of Flood,” answered the doctor. 

“Anything new developed?” Drake asked. 

“Not as yet, but we are looking for something,” and 
Vance indicated by a gesture that the lawyer should join the 
conference. 

The situation was gone over carefully, and the fact that 
Haines was in the city but could not be located was consid- 
ered ominous. 

“Vance,” said Drake, sharply, “come with me, we know 
where to find the judges. We will put the matter to them 
squarely. Any action brought in the usual way can be cared 


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for in due time, but we must, if possible avoid injunction 
proceedings. Let Mark or Neil, or both of them, keep an eye 
upon Flood and Haines. It is well that we know every move 
they make. You can do no good sitting here." 

“The advice is excellent," said Vance. “Let us act on it 
at once." 

As Mark had said, Haines was in the city, and while the 
conference was being held at Vance’s office. Flood, Haines 
and an attorney were in consultation at the hotel. Flood 
anticipated that Vance or some of his friends would be at 
the Casino when Norma came. He was of the opinion that 
Norma would tell Neil of the approaching interview. This was 
occasioned by the friendly manner in which their conversation 
was conducted, as witnessed by him the day he followed 
Mark Singleton. He began to fear that Norma’s request for 
an interview Saturday afternoon might mean an unpleasant 
scene, particularly if Neil should put in an appearance. 

Now that she seemed indifferent toward him, as shown by 
her note, he was all the more determined to win her. He 
had fully made up his mind that she should leave the city 
with him as soon as Haines brought suit. The letter from his 
wife had left him much disturbed. 

Flood told his attorney that he had an appointment with 
a friend at 2 p. m. and that he would, in all probability, be 
watched by Vance or some of his friends. The mere fact, he 
argued, of his presence at the Casino would lead Vance, and 
particularly Mark Singleton, whom he feared most, to the 
conclusion that nothing would be done at the Court House. 
Haines and the attorney could then proceed with the plan 
they had agreed upon. 

Flood thought it would be prudent to have Haines go 
with him to the Casino. Thus, if Vance’s friends were upon 
the lookout, this would completely mystify them as far as 
action in the court was concerned. 


NORMA LANE 


179 


The attorney was in favor of immediate action, but Flood 
was of the opinion that Vance, who stood high in the estima- 
tion of the public, would take some step, not only to frustrate 
them, but in some way interfere with the interview he had 
arranged for two o’clock. 

It was Flood’s purpose to keep Haines in sight all the 
time. The attorney was to take charge of him, when he could 
not, but Haines had some purchases to make, and while the 
attorney and Flood were discussing some features of the case, 
got away from them. 

When the gentlemen who were in conference at Vance’s 
office separated. Dr. Harley and Foxhall Standhope sauntered 
leisurely into the business district. The doctor knew Haines 
by sight, and as they turned into the main business street, he 
recognized the farmer, who was gazing at a store window. 

“Hist,” he said softly, “there is Haines. We must not let 
him get out of sight.” 

Haines went into the store, while the doctor and Standhope 
crossed to the opposite side, where they could see him when 
he came out. 

“I will tell you what we will do,” said the doctor. “We, 
or rather you, as he may know me, had best meet him when 
he is through in there, and make an offer on his farm. I am 
willing to pay a good stiff price for it. I am able to own it, 
and Haines out of the way, Vance will have no further trou- 
ble. The road must go through the farm, and if he remains 
obdurate it means trouble some time.” 

“How much am I to offer for the farm, if he will listen 
to the proposition?” asked Standhope. 

“It is not worth $9,000, but I will give that much. Offer 
him seven thousand and slowly advance until the nine thou- 
sand limit is reached.” 

When Haines made his appearance, Standhope approached 
him, saying: “This is Mr. Haines, I believe.” 


180 


NORMA LANE 


“That is my name.” 

“I don’t wish to detain you, but I understand your farm 
is for sale.” 

“Who told you it was?” asked the farmer, sharply. 

Standhope hesitated a moment. “I think it was — well, 
it does not matter who told me. Sometimes we business men 
find it prudent not to mention names.” 

“What business are you in?” 

“Real estate business just at present, but getting back to 
the question: What will you take for your farm?” 

“Forty thousand dollars,” said the countryman, calmly. 

“There must be a gold mine on it, or valuable coal depos- 
its,” replied Standhope, with a contemptuous laugh. 

“You don’t have to buy it. Now let me say something 
real plain to you. If you are one of them fellows with a box 
full of money that turns out to be saw dust when you look at 
it at home, you are barking up the wrong tree. I’m not so 
green as you take me.” 

“I see you are not. If my money turned out to be saw 
dust, as you say, I suppose I could pick up your farm when 
you wasn’t looking and make off with it.” 

Haines was not oblivious to the sarcasm and inquired: 
“What is your game, anyway?” 

“My game is, that there are seven thousand dollars in the 
First National bank, that you can call yours when I get a 
clear title to your farm.” 

“What do you want of it?” 

“I want to own it.” 

“You don’t want it very bad, do you?” 

“I’ve offered you a fair price,” said Standhope. 

“In your opinion, maybe, but not in mine.” 

“What will you take?” 

“I told you.” 

“That is a joke,” said Standhope. 


NORMA LANE 


181 


“Well, jist count the whole thing a joke and let it go.” 

“I’ll give you $8,000.” 

“Kind of crawlin’ up a little, ain’t you?” 

“As a negro would say, ‘I’ve done crawled.’ ” 

“Then I’ll bid you good mornin’,” said the farmer cheer- 
fully. 

“I’ll give you $8,500,” and Standhope scowled as in fierce 
anger. 

“As you said jist now, ‘that’s a joke.’ ” 

“Good-bye, Mr. — Hey?” 

“Standhope.” 

“What! Standhope, the feller Flood’s a cussin’ for buttin’ 
in?” 

“Is Flood saying unkind things of me?” 

“Sounds like a camp meetin’ revival when he gits 
started.” 

“You are leaning on a broken reed, Mr. Haines. Get over 
on the right side.” 

“That broken reed had the price, an’ it’s in my name at 
the bank. The farm ain’t for sale today, M r. ” 

The farmer turned and walked away. Standhope reported 
to the doctor. “He wanted forty thousand, did he? As I 
said, the farm might be worth $9,000, but if I thought Vance 
had to have that farm, I’d give forty thousand.” 

“Doctor, you will pardon me for even suggesting what 
Vance would say if he heard you.” 

“What’s that?” 

“You have heard the old adage, doubtless.” 

“Oh, about the ‘fool and his money;’ yes. I’ve heard it, 
and I suppose Vance would put it that way.” 

“Don’t worry about Vance. I think this afternoon will 
finish Flood’s usefulness to the company back of him, and I 
communicated with the office. They know the situation here. 
The home office has left it to me whether to arrest him if your 


182 


NORMA LANE 


State laws permit, or get a paid interview in the paper, show- 
ing Flood's fraudulent pretentions.” 

“Use the newspaper,” said the doctor. “And lay it on 
thick. Lash him in every line. He’s thin skinned, you can 
see that. When the blood comes, he will buy a ticket for 
New York. 

Neil and Mark had kept watch upon the Court House, but 
no one had attempted trouble there. Neil returned to the 
office and Mark decided to drop into the hotel and keep 
watch on movements there. 

When Drake learned that Mrs. Woodward was to accom- 
pany Norma that afternoon, and that she would confront her 
husband, he determined to accompany them. While there 
would be other gentlemen present, to protect, not only Norma, 
but Mrs. Woodward, if protection should be needed, he felt 
that having induced her to accompany him to Lake City it was 
his special duty to see that even her husband should not in- 
sult her. It was Drake who suggested that Mrs. Woodward 
remain under his care, that Flood should not see her until 
such time as Norma would require her presence. It was 
Norma’s plan for Neil to go with Mrs. Woodward, but this 
was quite satisfactory. 

As the office of the Traction Company would be closed 
that afternoon, Marion would accompany them and she and 
Norma would precede the others, while one by one the gen- 
tlemen were to find their way to the park. 

Neil and Mark were first to reach the Casino, and the man- 
ager knowing Neil well invited him into his private office. 
Here Neil told the story of Flood and Norma, much of which 
the manager knew, but one statement Neil made surprised 
him not a little. That Flood should masquerade as a single 
man was bad enough, but the little plot to make the acquaint- 
ance of Norma, after he had refused to be a party to an intro- 
duction, left him astounded and indignant. 


NORMA LANE 


183 


“I wish I had known it,” he said, his eyes flashing. “I 
wish I could have known it that day; his exit from the park 
would have been a speedy one.” 

“The young man who played the decoy or second villain 
in the farce, is here today, and is with us.” 

“What! Mark Singleton, with you — how is that?” 

“Vance took him up when shame and remorse over- 
whelmed him as his mother breathed her last. Since that 
time Mark Singleton has been a different person, and he has 
proven himself a valuable man to Mr. Vance.” 

“If the death of the mother redeems the son, few need 
sorrow that she died,” said the manager, and Neil felt the 
note of sadness in his voice. He remembered that the 
brother had buried his mother but a short time before, and 
whether it be boy or man, the mother is missed and mourned, 
if that boy or man be worthy of the consideration of his fel- 
low man. 

“I have mentioned the fact that the wife of the contempti- 
ble scoundrel whom we will run down this afternoon is in the 
city,” said Neil. “She will be here soon with Mr. Drake, 
and if it is not interfering or imposing upon you, I would ask 
that she might remain until wanted, either here, or in another 
apartment, where Flood may not stumble upon her, before 
the time. Before the time,” he continued, “for the time will 
arrive soon when accounts will be squared with him. His 
offer to give her one thousand dollars if she secures a divorce 
that he may marry Norma Lane, puts him beyond that pale 
where men are accorded decent treatment. If he is capable 
of feeling shame, that sensation will be his experience this 
afternoon.” 

It was not long after this that Norma and Marion arrived, 
and strolling down the long veranda took seats apart from 
the crowd that was gathering. 


184 


NORMA LANE 


Presently they saw Flood approach and with him was the 
farmer, Haines. Who the countryman was they did not know, 
but they observed the men separate and Flood came directly 
toward them. Haines was directing his steps toward the gate 
that led to the railway, when Mark Singleton, who with Vance 
had been watching for this move on the part of the farmer, 
hurriedly intercepted him. 

“Hello, Haines,” said Mark, cheerily, “I have not seen you 
for some time. 1 imagined you would look me up when you 
came to town.” 

“Why should I look you up?” 

“I am the man who discovered you, am I not?” 

“You discovered me on my farm where I wasn’t lost, if I 
know anything about it.” 

“You are getting lost now, ain’t you?” and Mark placed 
himself in front of the man. 

“What makes you think so?” 

“You want to see the show, don’t you?” 

“If I do, I know how to see it, and I have the price, too.” 

“There is no doubt of that. How much did he give you?” 

“How much did who give me?” asked the farmer, bridling 
and scowling. 

“Flood,” answered Mark. 

“I can’t see what business that is of yours.” 

“I might make it my business.” 

“Get away, I don’t want to talk to you.” 

Mark observed that Dr. Harley had joined Vance, and 
both were intently watching the interview. 

Had Flood known Mark’s purpose in stopping the farmer 
he might have interfered, but he was sitting with his back 
toward them. The doctor suddenly left Vance’s side and 
started toward the Casino. He had not been gone but a few 
moments, when he and the park policeman appeared. Pres- 
ently they joined Vance, who was partly hidden by the shrub- 


NORMA LANE 


185 


bery. Mark was alert, and catching sight of the group, took 
the farmer by the arm in a friendly manner apparently ask- 
ing him to sit down and talk over matters. 

“I’ve nothing to say to you,” and Haines angrily drew 
away. Giving Mark a sudden jerk he attempted to leave the 
grounds. Mark was in front of him in a moment, and plac- 
ing his hands upon Haines’ shoulders stopped him, and in no 
easy manner. Haines, who was stockily built, and by no 
means cowardly, resented this act, and shutting his fist drew 
back as if to strike. 

“You are not getting sore, are you?” he asked. 

“Get out of my way or I’ll mash you,” cried Haines, 
angrily. 

As this was what Mark most desired, the young man 
touched Haines lightly on the cheek with his open hand. 
Haines glared at him savagely. “You might go back of the 
monkey house there and take a few lessons before you smash 
me. It is an appropriate place for you, for Flood has been 
making a ‘monkey’ of you ever since you came to town.” 

Haines’ temper got the best of him, for Mark had taken 
hold of him again. “Let go of me, you dirty thief,” he cried 
as he struck viciously. Mark easily warded off the blow. 

“Oh! that is what you want, is it? Well, help yourself,” 
and Mark delivered a well-directed blow that started Haines’ 
nose bleeding. Singleton heard the officer as he ran toward 
them. 

“You are under arrest, both of you,” said the policeman. 

“I’m not guilty,” cried the farmer. 

“Tell that to the judge,” answered the officer. “Don’t 
make any resistance or I’ll put the nippers on you.” 

Haines stood glaring at the group, for Vance and the doc- 
tor drew near. 

“Did he attack you, Mark?” asked Vance, solicitiously. 

“Yes, I tried to get him to talk matters over quietly, but — ” 


186 


NORMA LANE 


“I am in a hurry to get to town,” said Haines. 

“And you are likely to get there in a hurry, too, if I call 
the wagon,” replied the officer. 

“Wagon, h 1,” cried the farmer, “Til go with you. 

Wait until I see Flood, I want someone to go on my bond.” 

“That is out of the question,” said the officer. 

“Let us go and get through with it,” said Mark, smiling 
good humoredly. This had been his plan. He was willing to 
endure the humiliation of arrest if by that means he could 
save the day for Vance. When Mark had first outlined his 
purpose to get into an altercation with Haines, Vance would 
not listen to it. He felt that he could not be a party to a 
scheme that on the face of it seemed dishonorable. 

“You know I am not desirous of appearing in a bad light 
now, just as I am beginning to feel some respect for myself,” 
Mark had said, “but Haines and Flood will do their best to get 
the papers served today or tonight. You don’t want that. 1 
am willing to do this for you, and will do it only if I am 
obliged to. I won’t hurt the man. So far as I am concerned, 
it will be a make-believe fight. If I do the thing half way gen- 
tlemanly, you can telephone the clerk to release me, but not 
until too late for Haines to get to Court, and you might go on 
Haines’ bond, too. Naturally, you can take your own time 
to it, and we will remain locked up until you come. On the 
other hand, if Haines will talk sense and go home without 
doing anything for Flood, there will be no pretended ‘scrap.’ ” 

Reluctantly Vance consented. All this the officer under- 
stood fully when he made the arrest. 

“This is hard luck,” moaned the farmer. “I had counted 
on going home on the 8:30 train. My folks will be looking 
for me.” 

“You ain’t likely to get any 8:30 train now,” said the 
officer. 

“Ain’t there any way to settle this?” he asked, anxiously. 


NORMA LANE 


187 


“There is a law against fighting in this State,” said the 
officer. 

“Haines, let us talk this over peaceably,” said Mark. “You 
have done your duty and so have I, if you only knew it. If 
you will do the right thing, and the officer will let me tele- 
phone, ril get us both out on bail right away.” 

“What do you mean by the right thing?” 

“Go home and let Flood fight his own battles.” 

“I’d rather walk all the thirty miles than have my family 
know this.” 

“There is an accommodation train that leaves in an hour,”* 
said Mark. 

“You and me can fix this thing in ten minutes if it wasn’t 
for this charge of fighting,” said Haines. 

“Will you let me telephone?” asked Mark, with a signifi- 
cant wink that Haines failed to notice. 

“I might take you to the depot. You can telephone from 
there before I lock you up.” 

“You could do that,” said Mark. 

“Ain’t there some way to fix it so I won’t be locked up?’^ 
pleaded Haines. 

“Perhaps, wait until I telephone,” said Mark. 

While Vance had not anticipated this action, he remained 
near the telephone at the Casino, expecting to hear from Mark 
when he arrived at the police station. Presently the bell rang. 

“Yes, Mr. Vance is here,” said the manager. 

“What is it?” asked Vance. He listened intently. 

“He is ready to go home, you say? Certainly, what do you 
want me to say to the officer? If that is the case, call him. 
Is that Officer Smith? Haines will leave in half an hour? 
Why, certainly; I’ll give you a better job if he don’t. Stay 
with him until the train comes and have Mark come back with 
you. Manager Carmody is all right; I’ll fix him. He is right 
here and hasn’t missed a word I’ve said. Good.” 


188 


NORMA LANE 


Just then the doctor peered into the office; Vance re- 
turned the receiver. 

“No injunction today, doctor.” 




CHAPTER TWENTY. 


S Flood drew near, Norma suggested that Marion 
find Neil, who could remain within easy call if 
assistance should be needed. “You need not fear 
for me with all my friends here,” Norma said. 

“At last you have found it convenient to meet 
me,” Flood gruffly remarked when he was seated. “You have 
taken your time to it. I am not used to being treated in such 
an indifferent manner.” 

“You have evidently been spoiled by someone. Humored, 
babyed, they sometimes call it. It could not have been your 
wife, you say you are unmarried; it was not I, I am sure. 
Who was the lady?” 

“I hope jealousy was not the cause of your neglect,” he 
said. 

“Jealous? If you only knew how little jealousy troubles 
me, you would not mention it.” 

“What has come over you, Norma Lane? You have 
changed very much in the last few days. No one could have 
induced you to speak pleasantly to Neil Dare about the time 
of the Elks’ Social. I recall that you snubbed him at Vance’s 
office and that you were almost insulting at the social. All 
at once ” 

“I did act contemptibly toward him,” she interrupted, 
“but I think he will forgive, he has ever been generous to- 
ward me.” 

“Ah! that is the meaning of the interview I witnessed at 
Vance’s office the other day,” he exclaimed, angrily. “You 
seemed to be on most excellent terms all at once.” 



189 


190 


NORMA LANE 


“There is little profit in quarreling all the time. But, let 
me ask you, how came you to see me at Mr. Vance’s office?” 

“It does not matter now — the question I’m asking is, why 
this sudden intimacy; why this renewed friendship with the 
man you said you despised?” 

“Did I ever say I despised him?” 

“Most assuredly. You reiterated it over and over.” 

“Girls often say things they don’t mean. Mr. Wood 

Mr. Flood, if I said such a thing, I will apologize to Mr. Dare.” 
She saw him start as she said Mr. Wood . 

“I am asking you, Norma Lane, what this renewed inti- 
macy with that fellow means?” ignoring the seeming mistake 
in the name. 

“Why, it means — Oh, while I think of it, did not you and 
Mr. Dare have trouble here the day I met you last, and did 
he not punish you in some way?” 

“Your friend Dare will regret his offense when I get pos- 
session of the road, as I will shortly.” 

“Then you have not abandoned that idea?” 

“Why do you ask? That reminds me, what did you mean 
in your note about me leaving the city soon?” 

“I had an idea you would. Let me ask you, did you see 
the lady who was with me that day?” 

“I noticed a lady rather heavily veiled for the season, with 
you, and saw you go to Vance’s office.” 

“She had not been down town with me before. She is 
visiting me, and I told her about you.” 

“Did you?” he exclaimed, and the cloud on his brow 
cleared. 

“I hope it was not altogether bad?” 

“I told her how gallantly you came to my rescue, when a 
young man I once knew had insulted me, here in the park,” 
and out of the corner of her eye she watched his expression. 


NORMA LANE 


191 


Brazen as he may have been with men or women of a kind, 
he flushed noticeably as she mentioned his gallantry. 

“Thank you,” he said quietly. 

“She asked me how long I had known you. And when I 
told her she said a young girl could not be too careful — men 
who traveled much were oftimes married while pretending 
to be single.” 

Norma observed his growing uneasiness, and his efforts to 
change the subject. “There she goes now with Mr. Drake, the 
attorney,” she continued. “Don’t stare at them, please; they 
will think we are talking about them.” The face of the lady 
was hidden by the shoulders of her escort, but her walk, her 
every movement, reminded him of his wife. “It could not be 
possible that she had carried her threat into execution,” he 
thought, and yet she might. 

“Has that fellow Dare been insinuating that I am mar- 
ried?” 

“He has not; he never stoops to insinuations,” she replied, 
sweetly. “Why do you ask?” 

“Never stoops to insinuations, hey? What a cherub he is 
all at once. You hinted rather plainly in your last note that 
such a thing might be, and now you mention the subject again. 
I wish to ask you what you mean by it?” 

“Such things have occurred,” she answered. 

“Norma, I mean to leave this city soon, and you must go 
with me. I cannot live without you. I cannot tell you how 
dear you are to me, how you are ever in my mind. In every 
waking hour you are with me. In the midst of important 
business your image rises before and clings to me like undy- 
ing, fadeless perfume.” 

“How prettily you say that,” she exclaimed, lightly. 

“And how abominably you refer to it, as if I had recited 
a poem.” 


192 


NORMA LANE 


“Why, Mr. Flood, was that original? I imagined it was a 
quotation.” 

An angry flush overspread the face that had been white 
since he had caught a glimpse of the veiled lady. His black 
eyes expressed as much fear as anger. This was not meek, 
submissive Norma Lane, whose modest glances had thrilled 
him. Cold, calculating, and selfish as was his nature, this 
radiant girl enthralled him. All at once he remembered that 
he was to call Haines at the hotel. He feared to leave her, 
and yet he was most anxious to know what had been done by 
Haines and his attorney. 

“I wish you would remain here, Norma” — he did not fail 
to note the flush and frown that meant rebuke — “Miss Lane, 
I should have said. I must telephone to the hotel at once, and 
will return immediately.” 

When Flood had closed the door of the booth, Neil and 
Marion hurried to Norma’s side to learn what had transpired. 

“He is decidedly nervous and uneasy, as if he feared some- 
thing. He told me, Neil, that he could not live without me,” 
and Norma’s eyes were telling a story Neil loved to read. 

“That means slow music for Flood,” he replied. “He shall 
not have you — never, never, never.” 

“Three nevers, what a long, long time that must be,” an- 
swered Norma. 

Attorney Drake and Mrs. Woodward were strolling about 
the grounds, the ostensible purpose of which was to keep out 
of Flood’s sight, but each seemed greatly interested in the 
subject of conversation, so the walk was indefinitely prolonged. 
Noticing the absence of Flood, they joined the group. 

“What has he said?” asked Mrs. Woodward. 

“I couldn’t begin to tell you all,” Norma replied. Well 
she knew that all the interest the fair young woman who was 
now her friend and guest had in the man she called husband 
was in securing an honorable separation. She was not one 


NORMA LANE 


193 


who believed that a mistake made at the altar must be borne 
through life. She was one who dissented from the idea that 
marriages were made in heaven, or if they were, heaven fre- 
quently made glaring mistakes. 

“There he comes now,” said Neil, as he saw Flood hasten- 
ing toward them. Even at a distance they saw that he was 
greatly worried. 

“You will signal me, Norma, when you want me,” said 
Mrs. Woodward. 

“As the time is not yet, let us get away, but remain near 
enough to worry him,” was the advice Drake gave. 

Neil and Marion made it a point to meet him face to face. 
He lifted his hat and bowed to Marion, but there was no sneer 
this time for Neil. 

“I don’t understand it,” he said, as he resumed his place 
at the table with Norma. “I cannot imagine what has hap- 
pened to Haines. They have not seen him at the hotel, and 
I could not get anyone at the Court House. My attorney was 
right, doubtless, when he urged me to act this forenoon, but 
I wished to see you first.” 

Drake and Mrs. Woodward were passing near, and Flood’s 
eyes followed them. 

“Who is that woman?” he asked abruptly. 

“She says she has seen you somewhere,” Norma replied, 
evasively. 

“She imagines so, perhaps, but you did not tell me her 
name. Who is she?” 

Norma was nonplussed for the moment. She did not want 
him to know just then that his wife was there watching him. 
She meant to punish him for his outrageous conduct. He, 
bound to this woman who once had trusted him, had almost 
ruined her life by his pretense of honorable marriage. She 
did not know what he might say or do, but she was sure the 
time — the dramatic moment — the psychological moment — 


194 


NORMA LANE 


had not arrived. She was waiting for a situation that would 
overwhelm him. The exact moment had not yet come when 
she would turn upon him: “Kennedy Woodward, alias Cyrus 
Flood, you are a scoundrel. Tell me, do you know this lady?” 

She wanted to see him grow white with fear. She wanted 
to see him cower before Neil Dare. She wanted a situation as 
the stage people put it. It was not altogether for herself, for 
the wrong he was trying to do her, nor the wrong to his unof- 
fending and faithful wife, but Neil’s wrongs must be righted, 
and in the presence of those who witnessed his humiliation, 
the day Flood made his first appearance in Vance’s office. 

Before Norma could frame her reply to the question: “Who 
is she?” a messenger from the office called to him, saying that 
he was wanted at the telephone. “At last,” he exclaimed with 
a sigh of relief, and apologizing for the abrupt departure, 
rushed away to answer the call. 

While he was absent, Norma, observing Mrs. Woodward 
and her escort near the entrance of the theater, went swiftly 
to them. Mr. Drake told her that Flood’s last hope, Haines, 
had gone home, and Vance was in no further danger from 
court proceedings. 

“Then the curtain on this drama falls. Keep close to me 
until I signal,” Norma said. The appearance Flood presented 
when he returned would have brought tears to her eyes had 
it been one she cared for. 

“Great God!” he exclaimed, his face drawn and pinched 
and white, “how things have gone with me today. Everything 
is against me.” He saw her careless smile and cried out 
against it: “Don’t laugh; have you no pity, Norma Lane? 
Have you turned against me, as all the world has turned?” 

Even a good woman plays the part of tigress at times. 
Not the tearing, mangling tigress, but the purring creature, 
that plays with its victim until the moment comes to end it all. 
’Tis a limp and lifeless thing the tigress looks upon when her 


NORMA LANE 


195 


lust for blood makes her fierce eyes green; and so a woman 
sometimes leaves her victim with mangled heart and limp, 
dead soul. 

“You look awfully glum,” she said. “What has hap- 
pened?”- 

“Haines, the man I have relied upon, the man I have paid 
to stay by me until the last, has turned, like the coward he is, 
and gone home.” 

“Is this the end of your scheming?” she asked, quietly. 

“Scheming?” He was glaring at her like an animal at 
bay. “Scheming,” he repeated. “It has been business all the 
time, legitimate business until I saw you. Then I lost my 
head. You may not believe me when I say my heart, but I 
did. For you, Norma Lane, I have sacrificed all; for you, 
Norma Lane, I’ll lose and laugh at the losing — if — if you 
will love me.” 

“If I will love you,” she replied; “wait, let me see ” 

she saw them stop; the signal he did not understand was 
given and a woman so closely veiled he could not know her 
came swiftly toward them. 

“If I will love you,” she said once more, “first let me ask 
you one question: Are you free to love me? Dare you tell 
me in the presence of this woman that you are free to love?” 

“In the presence of this woman ” he repeated her 

words as in a dream. 

“In the presence of this woman,” she answered with sol- 
emn emphasis. 

Drake and the veiled woman stood before him. Even 
before she bared the hidden face he knew her. His breath 
came in quick, short gasps. “You!” he cried, “you, Jessie 
Carrollton ” 

“Jessie Carrollton, once,” she answered sternly, “and Jes- 
sie Carrollton it must be again. It was a stainless name I 
brought to you, Kennedy Woodward. She whom you tried to 


196 


NORMA LANE 


drag down to your level is now my friend. Those whom 
you have tried to destroy or swindle have been my friends 
when you deserted me. I can call you husband, but I blush 
to do it. I saw you grow pale when I went by under the pro- 
tection of a man. I did not fear you, Cyrus Flood, as you are 
pleased to call yourself, for I was safe.. A man — a man 
made in the image of his Maker — stands between me and 
all the harm you can offer. I come to bring defeat to you. 
I came because he asked me,” and she glanced with unshamed 
admiration into the face of John Adams Drake.” “I came to 
save a woman, a sister, from the snares of the despoiler, and 
in the presence of this man I am safe, even from you, Ken- 
nedy Woodward.” 

“Norma!” He was strangely white — white as if death 
had touched him — “I confess; she was beneath me, but to 
save her from shame I made her mine. I gave her my name, 
and this is my reward. This stranger takes my place. I turn 
to you for honest love ” 

“You cur, you coward, you craven wretch, you letcherous 
beast — in the presence of all my friends I will stand by 
the woman you swore to protect and love, the woman you 
have robbed and tried to cast aside. That may do in the 
great city where sin sneers at goodness, where vice laughs 
virtue to scorn, but here among men, you are powerless, Cy- 
rus Flood — powerless. In the eyes of the law she is yours, 
but in the heart of justice she is ours.” 

“Yours, you mean, yours by right of conquest.” 

“Drake sprang toward him, but Neil interfered. Flood 
threw up his hands helplessly. 

“Wait,” Neil said calmly, “I will deal with him. He is a 
coward, and one can only feel contempt for himself when he 
strikes a cur like this one. With him, as with the mongrel 
beast, one can only kick him aside, and blush for having 
kicked the thing.” 


NORMA LANE 


197 


“Norma, do you listen to these, or will you hear me? The 
woman who calls me husband is shamelessly another’s. He 
whom you despised now licks your hand, and whines like a 
beaten cur for favor. Before the world I claim you, Norma, 
as my own.” 

Neil’s hands were clenched, his eyes were blazing. Vance 
and the doctor stood beside them now. 

“Wait a moment, Neil,” said Norma. “There stands your 
wife, Mr. Flood, an unloved woman who deserves the best 
that man can offer. You have asked me within the hour to 
marry you. In the presence of these, my friends, I denied 
the truest heart that ever beat for a woman. I did it for 
you, Cyrus Flood, and with shame unspeakable, I confess. 
But in the depths of my shame he came to me. He lifted 
me and put his arms about me and sheltered me as women 
pray for shelter. I have waited for this hour, Cyrus Flood, 
to pay you for your perfidy. 1 have waited for this hour to 
tell you that there is but one place in my heart for a man — 
a man — Cyrus Flood, not such as you.” 

They had gathered about him, all these whom he had 
wronged, but not a hand was lifted against him. Pale and 
trembling he stood before them. She who bore his name had 
turned her back upon him. Norma went to Neil, her eyes 
lifted to his as if in prayer for forgiveness. 

In the great, warm heart of Vance there was pity. Flood 
had been his enemy in business only, but with Neil it was 
different. He had tried to rob him of the love that was life 
and hope, and he was waiting for a word to give him the 
right to punish. 

It came so unexpected — they stood aghast a moment, and 
then Neil sprang upon him. 

Flood knew the end had come. All his plans had come 
to naught. The girl he sought now scorned him. The wife 
had turned her back upon him. 


198 


NORMA LANE 


Like a wolf at bay he turned upon them. “Take them, 
gentlemen, take them — each one ‘my light o’ love,’ as the 
Scotch put it ” 

He did not finish. Neil was the wild beast of the jungle 
now. The girl he loved cried out against the monster that 
stabbed her honor. 

Drake, powerful in the strength of his young manhood, 
sprang toward the husband of the woman who meekly bore 
his insult. Neil was first. Flood heard his hiss: “You stain 
the earth she treads upon — your hour has come.” His fingers 
closed about the throat of his enemy. 

Vance saw the wild, protruding eye, he saw the look of 
abject fear, he heard the gurgle-gurgle of the strangling 
wretch, and then he swept down upon them. Like a whirl- 
wind he caught them. He tore them apart. “Neil, stop!” he 
thundered. ‘Remember the Book — ‘Vengeance is mine,’ 
saith the Lord.” 


CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE. 


EAN VANCE accompanied Eleanor Clay and her 
Aunt when they returned to their home at Darby 
Center. While Vance, in the joy of his new- 
found happiness announced that the trunks 
might be unpacked again, found a strong advo- 
cate in Aunt Louise. Why not stay a while longer? she 
thought, but Eleanor disapproved. “It would be indelicate; 
it would cause no little talk, and we must not stay here now,” 
she said. 

“It is just like getting up from the table the minute you’ve 
finished your meal, and making a streak for home,” replied 
her Aunt. 

“I know Mr. Vance would like us to stay longer. Jean is 
insisting, too, but dearly as I love this beautiful place, and 
much as I shall miss seeing the man I have won, the man I 
am so proud to love, I must go home.” 

“I’m willing, but he seemed to want you to stay and I 
felt like agreeing with him. I never had a niece step into a 
home like this.” 

“The home is beautiful, but that is the least of all — it 
is the man — the splendid gentleman whom I can call mine 
that I think of most,” replied her niece. 

“I ’spose I missed something in life, living as I have 
alone, but there were no Wilberton Vance’s around Darby, 
and the few I might have cared to sit beside in church seemed 
to shy off, and so I’m getting a grain of comfort seeing 
my Eleanor, as I always call you to myself, lean on a man 


J 

[ 



199 


200 


NORMA LANE 


as is a man. I saw him watch you that first night when Jean 
and you were talking. He didn’t act silly at all like some 
widowers I’ve seen. His eyes seemed to be saying: ‘How 
nice she is,’ and I watchin’ him as he watched you, folded my 
hands and whispered a prayer. The good Lord don’t have 
to be yelled at, as some do, and I’m thinking with a deal of 
satisfaction that maybe He heard me.” Whether lost in 
reverie, or whether unspoken thanks were being lifted to the 
One who “don’t have to be yelled at,” Eleanor did not know, 
but each sought rest that night with strange, new gladness 
abiding with them. 

The visit was prolonged two days that Jean might accom- 
pany them. At first the young lady thought that she could 
not leave Harold to the uncertain mercies of an unfeeling 
world, now that all his faults had fled, now that all his jokes, 
feeble or otherwise, had become gems of humor. Eleanor 
was persistent and Jean consented. Naturally, Harold was 
consulted before the final conclusion was arrived at, and 
there was an emphatic protest. 

“A fellow never knows what might happen. Why, there 
may be some fellow out there that will upset everything, and 
we are going along at such an easy gait now,” he said. 

“Eleanor can put a blind bridle on her, if you are afraid,” 
said Aunt Louise. 

“I’d rather see her wear the bridal robe — I’d feel surer 
of her,” he replied. 

“It is not so far that you cannot come and see her. You 
can surely spend a Sunday with us now and then,” was 
Eleanor’s reply. 

“Now and then?” he cried. “How long is this visit to 
last?” 

“We have a lot of work to do, and we cannot have you 
men bothering us as you would if I was home,” Jean told him. 
“Then when you are very lonesome you may come for me.” 


NORMA LANE 


201 


“My nephew to be,” said Aunt Louise, sharply, “I know 
you are a busy man, but you will come, too. Of course, you 
will be Eleanor’s guest, but there is a little farm two miles 
from town where the chickens roost low, and there will be 
one in the skillet whenever you come.” 

The event at the Casino that Saturday afternoon was 
fully narrated in the letters Eleanor and Jean received from 
Lake City. That the threatened proceedings in Court were 
no longer to be feared, was as pleasing to the young ladies 
at Darby Center as to the gentlemen in the city, and Jean 
read Harold’s version of the Casino episode aloud, only here 
and there was a sentence quite too personal and interesting 
for even Eleanor to hear. Eleanor’s letter required some 
editing for Aunt Louise’s benefit, but each story was full of 
interest. The expurgated portions were considered by far 
the most interesting features of the letters to the one girl 
in the case. Harold’s was less coherent, although more bril- 
liant. The “my darling,” and “that devil,” were so closely 
interwoven that Jean could with difficulty keep Aunt Louise 
upon the track of the story. 

One feature of the episode neither Vance nor Harold 
could explain, and that was, what became of Flood. 

When the exciting scene at the Casino was over and Flood 
could speak, he thanked Vance in a few well-chosen words. 
I owe to you, perhaps, my life, or if that seems to serious 
or overdrawn, at least much physical discomfort. He who 
attacked me was easily the victor. Some day I may repay 
the debt I owe him with interest.” 

“Mr. Flood, you have tried to do me financial injury; you 
insulted in a manner most cowardly a young woman whose 
honor and reputation is dear to me; you offered insult to your 
wife as well, and I am free to say that I think it quite as false 
as your reference to Miss Lane. Even the humiliation of 
your defeat, and the unexpected appearance of your wife, was 


202 


NORMA LANE 


no excuse for the gross insult. Had not Neil punished you, 
I would, or at least attempted it. If, as you have said,” con- 
tinued Vance, “I saved your life, and I think I did, I am glad 
I was permitted to do it. Glad for your sake and more glad 
for Neil Dare. I would never forgive myself if I stood by 
and witnessed the death of a fellow man even though the 
provocation was great. Let me say a word concerning the 
business that brought you here. You were not more to blame 
than other agents of unscrupulous syndicates or organizations, 
and therefore, I bear you no personal malice. There was a 
time, had you pressed matters, when you could have done 
the project I have at heart great injury, but that time has 
gone by.” 

“I am of that opinion also, particularly now that Mr. 
Standhope, of the Company I pretended to represent, is on 
the ground,” replied Flood. 

“That reminds me; Mr. Standhope is of the opinion that 
his Company could cause you some trouble in Court; at 
least unpleasant notoriety. Now, if I may ask, do you, or 
your Company, desire to make further efforts to secure the 
road? If you think the question is one your sense of obliga- 
tion to your employers should prevent you answering, do not 
think the events of the last hour or two will militate against 
you, or that an answer is necessary.” 

“So far as I am concerned I am ready to quit. I am free 
to say that I should like to see your employee punished for 
his assault upon me. I imagine, however, that I can hope 
for little help from the Courts. Public sentiment would be 
strong against me, and public sentiment rules Courts some- 
times. You have shown a disposition to be more generous 
towards me than my mission here warrants, and therefore, 
ask this favor of you: that I be permitted to remain here 
unmolested and without further scandal until I can commu- 
nicate by mail with the Company that has employed me. I 


NORMA LANE 


205 


could telegraph, but that would be unsatisfactory. I wish to 
explain the situation fully. The presence of Mr. Standhope 
offers a legitimate excuse for my failure, and naturally, I 
wish to appear in as favorable a light as possible.” 

The young attorney, John Adams Drake, had heard all 
that was said, but bore no part in the conversation. The 
ladies had turned away when Neil sprang upon Flood, as here- 
tofore narrated. That is, Mrs. Woodward and Marion, trem- 
bling and pale, saw but little that occurred. Norma, however, 
looked on unmoved until she saw that Neil might kill the man 

he hated, then she cried out: “Neil, Neil, for my sake ” 

but Vance had intervened. 

The doctor hastened to Marion and the sobbing wife. De- 
serted and insulted as she had been, she remembered that 
the man called Flood was her husband. It was not love that 
prompted the tears — it was pity — pity for the man with- 
out a friend to plead for him. What her heart was saying, 
as she lifted appealing eyes to Drake and hurried from the 
scene, she could not tell. She knew, however, that life 
would be intolerable now, should she be compelled to return 
to New York. 

A frightened backward glance had shown the stalwart 
figure of Wilberton Vance in the midst of the turmoil. She 
saw Neil turn away when Vance had said: “Vengeance is 
mine.” 

She was glad that Drake did not come to her now that 
the trouble had passed. “Let us go somewhere and sit 
awhile — I — I am tired, I think,” she said. She sat and 
watched them — there were just the three men, Vance, Drake 
and Flood, and they were talking. 

“What will become of me?” she was thinking. She did 
not know that the young attorney had this same question in 
his mind. She did not know that he had planned or mapped 
out her future if her husband was not obdurate. 


204 


NORMA LANE 


He had learned to know her well enough in the short 
time they had been together to realize that she would go with 
her unworthy husband if he demanded it. He knew, how- 
ever, that it was Norma’s wish that she remain in Lake City. 
In fancy he saw her installed in Vance’s office when Marion 
should go back to school. 

As Flood was about to leave the grounds, Drake said: 
^‘This is not the time to say what I would like to say to you, 
Mr. Flood, but let me assure you that if you will grant me 
an interview at your hotel tonight, or elsewhere if you prefer, 
it will be upon a business proposition that we can discuss 
calmly.” 

“Come to the hotel,” replied Flood quietly, but coldly. 

When Drake arrived Flood was waiting in the office of 
the hotel. His letter to the Syndicate had been written, his 
explanations made, his suggestions plainly stated, and now 
he was ready to meet the lawyer. 

“Do you prefer the privacy of my room, or will this do?” 
he asked. 

“This will do,” was the reply. “Mr. Flood, what I mean 
to ask you will be more easily understood if I tell you how 
I came to meet your wife. I beg that you will listen patiently, 
even though you be tempted to interrupt, or feel a sense of 
indignation. When I have finished I will answer every ques- 
tion you may ask save one.” 

“Naturally I would ask that question now, if I understood, 
but proceed,” replied Flood. 

“When things looked ominous for Vance, or the comple- 
tion of the road without Court proceedings, some of Vance’s 
friends, without his knowledge, sought to locate the company 
you were connected with, for some of us, were not ready to 
accept the Great Northern Electric Company story when we 
learned your purpose. That on the face of it was evident, 
but when I met Mr. Standhope on the train, on my way to 


NORMA LANE 


205 


New York, and in a casual conversation learned his busi- 
ness and the establishment he was connected with, I asked 
what he knew of one Cyrus Flood, a representative of his 
house. 

“Naturally, he knew nothing about you. He did not be- 
lieve you were sent to Lake City by his Company. When we 
reached New York he called upon me, with the information 
that you were not an agent of the Great Northern, and that 
he would go at once to see Vance. I was not specially inter- 
ested in looking up the Company that had sent you to Lake 
City. On account of your intimacy with Norma Lane, I was 
particularly interested in meeting your wife, and in securing 
proofs that she was your wife. Could I have foreseen the 
conclusion of this affair as it came about today I would not 
have induced her to leave New York. She consented, how- 
ever, when I told her that it was to save the honor of a young 
woman very dear to many gentlemen in Lake City. I need 
not tell you what I mean — I think you understand.” 

Flood assented, and Drake was about to proceed when 
Flood asked: “How did you come to know her address, or 
learn that I had a wife?” 

“So far as I know it was in a perfectly legitimate man- 
ner.” 

“May I ask you how?” 

“By correspondence,” answered Drake so promptly and 
with such candor that Flood was about to let the subject pass, 
but recalling that no one in Lake City could know the address 
except himself, unless she had written to someone, he was 
curious to know who. 

“Of course, she knew I was here; there is nothing mysteri- 
ous in that, but naturally I would like to know the person.” 
Flood’s manner was respectful, and on the face of it seemed 
a bit of natural curiosity, but back of the apparently indif- 
ferent request for information, there was more than mere 


206 


NORMA LANE 


curiosity. There was a suspicion that the lawyer had won 
the affections of the wife from whom he sought freedom. 
He knew he had lied in a most cowardly manner about her 
and about the man who was quietly telling the story of his 
connection with the case. He knew that his wife would tell 
the attorney all that he had written — doubtless, she had 
already told him, and there was that sentiment — if sentiment 
it can be called — that has existed since the cave-man fought 
fierce battles for his own — that even the brute creation pos- 
sess in marked degree — resentm’ent against the intrusion of 
the stranger. Yesterday he would have hailed such intrusion 
as a most happy circumstance, but now the girl had passed 
beyond his reach. Now he was alone. His wounded vanity 
was crying for murmured sympathy from woman, and this 
man was likely to steal from him the one woman who had 
borne without reproach, indifference and neglect. 

“To whom did she write, may I ask?” 

“To you.” 

“How did you get any of my letters?” He tried ot put 
the question calmly, but there was an angry glitter in his eyes. 

“I told you when I began, that I would answer every ques- 
tion you might ask save one — that is the question I cannot 
answer.” 

“That is the one I want answered.” The peculiar gray- 
white pallor that Drake had observed upon the face of this 
man when Neil’s fingers were closing about his throat had 
returned. His lips were drawn; there was madness in the 
staring eyes. 

“I made myself clear, I hope ,when I said I could not 
answer — now I say I will not answer.” 

“By God, sir, I think I uttered more truth than I believed 
this afternoon ” 

“Stop. This afternoon Wilberton Vance saved your life. 
Neil Dare would have strangled you. Your end was nearer 


NORMA LANE 


207 


than you thought. I want no scene here, but I want you to 
retract that slur upon my honor — that insult to your wife.” 
Drake waited a moment. “You have heard me,” he added, 
quietly. 

Flood was silent. He did not attempt to rise. He sat 
staring at his foe, as he considered him, staring, and all the 
while breathing heavily as at the end of a swift race. 

“If you do not wish to be dragged into that vacant room, 
you will go there quietly with me. There is no one to inter- 
fere. For such innuendos there is no law — there is simply 
the punishment one brute gives to another. I will beat you 
into insensibility. I will not attempt to kill you as Neil did, 
but I will punish you — punish you terribly. I know I can 
do it; you know it, too. I am loath to do it, I will wait a 
moment, but when I thrust you into that room it will be too 
late.” 

“If you were guilty, and your words a mere bluff, I could 
read it in your face and call the bluff. I am mistaken. I 
retract the imputation against my wife — I apologize. If you 
have more to tell me, proceed,” and Flood looked steadily at 
the floor. 

“There is little more to tell,” replied Drake. “I asked 
your wife when I found her for proof of your marriage. She 
gave it to me. I asked her to come with me to Lake City to 
save the honor of a young woman. She came, as you know. 
She told her story to Norma Lane. They became friends. 
Your wife has a home where she is most welcome. She is 
fitting herself to make a living here, if you will not care for 
her. I have no interest in your affairs or her’s, except that 
which any gentleman might lay claim to. She came at my 
request. The purpose of her coming has been accomplished. 
I will not leave her to drift back to New York as best she 
can. Wilberton Vance will offer her a position in his office. 


208 


NORMA LANE 


It is only fair to you to tell you this and ask what you pro- 
pose to do.” 

“I might take her back to New York if she desires to go, 
but that hangs upon the action of the syndicate. If I am re- 
lieved, I cannot do for her until I secure a new situation. If 
she prefers to remain here I shall offer no protest.” 

“Do you desire an interview with her?” 

“I am not seeking an interview. I did not ask her to 
come. I should not be required to go to her now. If she 
wishes to call upon me, tomorrow I will see her. If she does 
not come, I will know that she prefers new friends,” said 
Flood significantly, but coldly. 

“These new friends will give her protection and employ- 
ment.” 

“And a divorce?” 

“We will not discuss embarrassing questions. 1 will say, 
however, that among her new friends are some who claim to 
be gentlemen ; how familiar you may be with that class I am 
not able to say, but gentlemen never suggest ideas or acts 
that belong to conscience.” 

“Mr. Drake, I anticipate returning to New York within a 
day or two at most. I recognize I have failed here, and the 
least of these failures is the railway scheme — the effort to 
crush Vance. The other you know. After seeing Norma 
Lane my wife is as one who is in the grave. If Mrs. Ken- 
nedy Woodward cares to see me again, I shall treat her kindly. 
If she wishes to go back to New York, you, who brought her 
here, will provide her transportation, but if left to me I would 
prefer that she remain. A moment ago I was angry, jealous, 
perhaps, but I am myself again. To have her with me in New 
York, is to bring back memories of Lake City — memories 
that I hope will die. To see her there is to see you, Mr. 
Drake, and I earnestly desire that I shall have seen you for 
the last time when I say — good night.” 


CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO. 


ERY member of the lodge at Lake City was noti- 
fied that there would be an initiation on a certain 
meeting night. The notification did not state who 
the candidate would be, but those regular in 
attendance were well aware that the name signed 
to the application was that of Jno. P. Harley. 

When Flood had quietly left the city — as quietly and 
mysteriously as he came — Dr. Harley intimated to Wilber- 
ton Vance that he would like to be a member of the Order 
he had learned to love and respect for what it meant, and 
what it did. 

“Long ago,” said he, “I would have made application, but 
you know how it was. There was not much left when bills 
were paid. It is different now, and if the boys want me, Fd 
like to be with them. I won't be in the way much, and I 
won’t do all the talking. Shakespeare speaks of those whose 
shadows have grown long in life’s afternoon as men who 
‘babble o’ green fields,’ but I am not of these, I hope, and so 
if Neil or Harold or some of you care to take my name, the 
money is waiting.” 

“I do not propose,” replied Vance, “that Neil or Harold 
will have that satisfaction. That pleasure will be mine. Here 
is the blank, answer these questions, and sign your name. I’ll 
see to the rest, that is, if the boys don’t black-ball you. Of 
course, if they do, it won’t cost you anything.” 

“It won’t, hey? You have no idea how much it would 
cost me. It would cost me so much that I’d go back to Eden 



209 


210 


NORMA LANE 


— back to the little village and the country folk — where they 
love me, foolishly perhaps, but there I’m old Doc John, and 
there I’d feel welcome.” 

“One never knows just what will happen, but I suggest 
that you don’t make arrangements as yet to move back to 
the village,” and Vance turned his back to his old friend that 
he might not see the smile which would have told how remote 
the possibility was that the boys would fail to welcome him. 

When the secretary read the names of the committee of 
investigation, there was a ripple of applause and the chair- 
man arose and said: “The committee is ready to report, and 
while informal, we will sign the application and investigate 
afterward.” The committee consisted of Jno. Adams Drake, 
Neil Allen Dare, and Harold Henderson Brady. 

Never had such an investigation been conducted in the 
history of Lake City Lodge. It was held after the ballot was 
taken, and as everyone anticipated there were no black balls 
cast. The committee acted on Brady’s suggestion that they 
have a bit of preliminary fun with the doctor, even if it was 
irregular. Naturally, the doctor knew nothing about the bal- 
lot, or when it occurred, and when he got notice one day that 
a committee would call upon him after office hours that even- 
ing he awaited their coming with a feeling of nervousness 
that he hoped they would not discover. 

The demeanor of the committee could not have been more 
solemn had they been approaching the death bed of the can- 
didate. The doctor bade them welcome in his usual cheery 
manner, or rather attempted to do so, but the funerial aspect 
of these men — these friends of his — chilled him though the 
August night was sultry. With a cheeriness altogether as- 
sumed he produced a box of cigars, the brand proclaiming 
their excellence. 

“Have a cigar with me, boys, we can smoke and talk, too.” 


NORMA LANE 


211 


He passed the box to Drake, whose fondness for the weed 
was well known. He took a cigar, and after examining it 
carefully, replaced it in the box and silently passed it on to 
Neil. Neil gravely imitated Drake’s proceedure and handed 
the box to Harold. The doctor was watching Harold closely, 
hoping that he might discover a twinkle in the eyes of this 
light-hearted friend that would proclaim it all a joke. Harold 
closed the lid and silently passed the box back to the candi- 
date. 

The doctor knew his cigars were beyond reproach, and 
he knew as well that each of these men sitting so silently 
and solemnly were inveterate smokers. 

“What is the matter, gentlemen? Those cigars are all 
right.” 

“Perhaps,” said Drake. 

“Perhaps,” echoed Neil. 

“Possibly,” added Harold, with unusual sternness. 

The doctor had never attempted to join a secret society 
before, and he began to wonder what all this meant. He 
had no idea it was such a serious proposition. His eyes 
sought each face in turn, but there was no encouragement, no 
sign of friendliness even. 

“If you have any bad news, gentlemen, don’t hesitate to 
speak. I told Vance I’d like to be an Elk, but if you don’t 
want me, it’s all right, boys. You’ve been my friends, and, 
and, I won’t hold it against you.” They had never seen such 
a look of sadness on the benevolent and kindly face, or heard 
such a note of pathos in his voice. 

“Things look a little dark for you, doctor,” said Drake, 
after a long pause. 

“May I ask why?” There was no reply. 

“You have known me personally or by reputation, gentle- 
men, and there is nothing in my past that I shall seek to hide 
from you.” 


212 


NORMA LANE 


“Do you know you have just committed a serious offense, 
Doctor Harley?” 

“What have I done, Mr. Drake?” 

“You have attempted to bribe us.” 

“Bribe you?” there was resentment in his tone. 

“It is a serious offense,” solemnly announced Harold. 

“Very serious,” said Neil. 

“Tremendously serious,” added Drake. 

“Boys, are you trying to play horse with the old man?” 
asked the doctor. 

“Far from it,” replied Drake — “far from it.” 

“In the first place you are accused of wanting the Ramure, 
doctor. Think of it, the Ramure. Then on top of that you 
attempt to bribe the committee — innocently, doubtless — be- 
cause you are by nature generous — but you have no idea 
what those cigars mean to this committee.” 

“Precious little idea,” Harold added in a sort of chant. 
Neil said nothing — simply moaned. 

“Do you mean, gentlemen, that because I offered you the 
courtesy common among gentlemen, a cigar — a social, 
friendly smoke, and each man of you has accepted cigars 
from me — that I am offering you a bribe? I do not know 
what your rules are, but that looks like a bit of damned fool- 
ishness to me.” There was no pathetic note in his voice now. 
The danger signal was showing; the old wound was growing 
purple. If the doctor was disturbed by the peculiar actions 
of the committee, the boys were suffering. They wanted to 
yell. Neil was able at all times to mask his emotions, but 
Harold had not that power, and he was wondering at his suc- 
cess in keeping his face immobile and solemn. 

“Doctor, have you pronounced views upon the tariff?” 
asked Neil, breaking the silence. “In our Order you are 
privileged to hold your political views, but you must be care- 
ful how and where you express yourself upon the tariff.” 


NORMA LANE 


213 


“My boy, if you knew how little I care about the con- 
demned tariff one way or the other, you would not ask me 
the question,” replied the doctor, earnestly. 

“In the line of our investigation, I wish to ask you, doc- 
tor,” and Harold retained both his voice and his gravity, “if 
you have ever given much thought, or have ever written any- 
thing on the subject of foreordination?” 

“I should hope not,” snapped the doctor. 

“A great mistake you made, old friend.” 

“What in thunder has my views on the tariff or foreordi- 
nation got to do with my fitness as a member of your Order?” 

Before Harold could frame an appropriate reply, Drake 
hurriedly asked: “May I ask, doctor, if you were ever a vic- 
tim of a secret marriage?” 

“Boys, I’m trying hard to break myself of swearing,” an- 
swered the doctor earnestly, “but if I have to answer a lot of 
idiotic questions like that, you’ll open up a bundle of vivid 
English — in a few minutes — that I had hoped would ever 
remain unopened.” 

“You grieve us grievously, doctor,” and Harold’s hands 
were folded piously; “you speak with levity, with profaneness, 
I may add, as well as levity. As your friends in the outside 
world, that is permissible, but as a committee impressed with 
the solemnity of its mission, it is different. It is barely pos- 
sible that you have never encountered a committee such as 
this.” 

“I have no recollection of having been honored in such a 
manner before, and if I retain my respect and admiration for 
a Society of which I had hoped to be a part, I devoutly pray 
this may be the last.” The doctor arose and walked up and 
down the office, uttering no further comment. Each member 
of the committee sat with impassive face looking silently at 
the floor. Presently they arose simultaneously as if at the 
rap of an invisible gavel. 


214 


NORMA LANE 


“He is not humble,” said Drake. 

“He is not meek,” responded Neil. 

“He is not contrite,” added Harold. 

The doctor paused in his walk. Paused by the door. It 
was his unspoken decision that the interview was over. The 
scar of Gettysburg was livid. In his face they saw more pity 
than anger. In their hearts they yearned to take him by the 
hand and say: “This is only a joke of ours, old friend. The 
Lodge, the Order, has nothing to do with us. You are elected 
and we wait to make you one of us,” but their plans were to 
leave him to wonder what the strange interview meant. 

“We must retain this evidence of his attempt at bribery,” 
and Harold secured the box of cigars, and with a solemn 
“good night,” they filed out of the office. 

When their footsteps had died away the old man sat for 
a time in deep study. “Was this simply a joke?” he asked 
himself. Then he remembered that Drake had said you’re 
accused of wanting the “Ramure.” He turned to the dic- 
tionary on the shelf, but did not find the word. 

It was no medical term, he knew. Then recalling that in 
his room was an old French dictionary, he closed the office and 
directed his steps toward the furnished rooms he called home. 
He found the book, and the word. “Horns or Antlers,” he 
read. “Those dag-burned boys,” he said, “how did they man- 
age to keep a straight face?” 

The lines that came within the hour faded as he sat laugh- 
ing softly at the trick they had played upon him. Then from 
a locked drawer he took a photograph. He unwrapped the 
folds of tissue paper, and looking at it tenderly, his lips moved 
as if in silent prayer. What he said the Spirit Immortal 
might have caught — it was not meant for human ears. It 
was a picture of a girl some fourteen years of age. The face 
was thin and pathetic. He had begged that she sit for the 
picture as soon as she was able to go out of the house. He 


NORMA LANE 


215 


had fought death for this little girl and triumphed. She was 
now rosy and joyous and full of life. “Good night, little one,” 
he said, and sank to rest, a smile lingermg upon his lips. 

It was the next day that Vance met him. “The committee 
visited you last night, I understand,” said he. 

“What do they say about it?” 

“I think every member of the lodge is laughing about it 
today.” 

“Did you smoke any of my cigars that Harold carried 
away?” asked the doctor. 

“No, we will smoke them after the initiation.” 

“The initiation?” 

“Of course. The boys put up this joke on you after every- 
thing was settled.” 

“And to think they never cracked a smile. It’s one on 
me, Vance, and now to show that I appreciate a joke, even 
if I am the victim. I’m going to fool the boys. They must not 
know anything about it. I’ll go out to Eden and get Abe 
Thomas to buy me three dozen young chickens, the biggest 
and best he can find. Then 1 want you or Norma to invite 
Abe and his wife to stay all night in town, for Abe’s wife must 
cook the chickens. No chef at $10,000 a year can equal 
Malinda Thomas when it comes to chicken with gravy and 
little white biscuit that melt in your mouth. You don’t have 
to eat them, they seem to evaporate and sanctify you. If the 
saints in the realms eternal ever eat, they’ll smack their lips 
when Malinda Thomas gets there.” 

“Stop, doctor, I lunched only an hour ago, but you make 
me hungry. It is settled where Abe and his wife will stay 
when they come to town. Let me bear part of the expense — ” 

“Expense nothing — this will be my revenge,” said the 
doctor as he strode away. 


216 


NORMA LANE 


The initiation was over, and when it came to the “Good 
of the Order,” the doctor was called upon for remarks. 

“After what I heard tonight,” he said, “I should be ready 
to forgive my enemies, but I am not sure I have arrived at 
that stage of Brotherly Love that I can. Three of these new 
brothers of mine played a trick on me the other night and 
I won’t feel quite satisfied until I have had my turn at it.” 

Vance had managed, by keeping the doors locked, even 
against the protest of some who wanted to get into the ban- 
quet room or the kitchen upon one pretext or another, to 
make the richly laden tables a complete surprise. 

Malinda Thomas had never surpassed her work on this 
occasion. Her heart was in the work. Her old friend, the 
doctor, had asked this favor of her, and he did not ask in 
vain. 

“I have planned a revenge,” continued the doctor, “and 
when that has been completed ” 

“The hour of your revenge is at hand,” interrupted Wil- 
berton Vance, and the banquet room was open and ablaze with 
light and the odors from the kitchen came like unseen bless- 
ings and settled about them. 

“The brothers will be seated at once and remain silent 
until the word is given,” said Vance. “I know the flesh is 
weak, and temptation is great,” he continued, “but you will 
not touch a toothsome morsel until we hear from the doctor.” 

The doctor was embarrassed and paused for words, as he 
had anticipated that Vance would say what was necessary. 

The applause, hearty and long continued, was not calcu- 
lated to restore his equanimity, but when quiet came he said: 
“My brothers, this is my revenge. I have called upon friends 
of mine in the country to help make it complete. A good 
woman I have known for years, whose guest I have been more 
times than I would like to tell — but when you have finished 
you will guess why — and this woman came to give you a 


NORMA LANE 


217 


sample of the blessings the Good Lord sends country folks. 
But before we eat, her husband, my friend, who worships the 
most Exalted of all Rulers, and who looks to Him as the chil- 
dren of men should look to a father, will ask a blessing. 
Abraham Thomas, offer thanks." 

The voice of the farmer trembled as in the presence of 
these strangers he offered his simple words of thanksgiving 
for all the good things of life, and when he said “Amen," 
there was a reverent response from the brotherhood. 

Harold Brady was made chairman of the social. He con- 
gratulated the lodge on its good fortune to be able to enjoy 
a fine old-fashioned country dinner. He praised the cooking 
and left blushes on the cheeks of the good Mrs. Thomas. 

“I hope to enjoy another such dinner some day " 

“He is counting on going to Thomas' on his wedding tour," 
broke in the doctor. 

As this event was near at hand, the toastmaster was, for 
once, an embarrassed individual. The doctor was quick to 
note the effect of his interruption, and when the laughter 
died away assumed a Monte Cristo pose and cried “One." 

Many happy hits were made that evening, but to relate 
them would simply rob the brothers of a pleasing memory. 
One incident, however, was of such a nature that the story 
of that social would be incomplete with out it. There had 
been repeated calls for Doctor Harley, and finally he arose 
to respond. 

“Mr. Toastmaster," cried Wilberton Vance, “before the 
doctor begins his remarks I have a note here — a note that 
will never go to protest — which I will read. It is directed to 
me alone, but I will share with you," and Vance read: 

“Lake City, Aug. 15, 19 — . 

“Dear Mr. Vance: — I have heard that Doctor Harley 
will be an Elk tonight. As my papa was your first president. 


218 


NORMA LANE 


or ruler, I feel that I am not too bold, in asking that his 
daughter might offer a little token of her friendship to the 
physician who worked as never physician worked before, that 
I might live. He has never let me pay him. Will you pre- 
sent him in my name this Emblem, and I beg that each one 
of you who have been so kind to me — no noble in your 
devotion to my sister and myself — will join with me in wish- 
ing the newest Elk in Lake City many years of life not only 
to wear the badge, but to enjoy your loyal friendship. 

“Your well wisher, 

“Marion Lane."’ 

There had been applause before that evening, but none 
like this. While Vance fastened the badge upon the lapel of 
the old man’s coat there were cheers, and then silence — deep 
silence. 

“They wait for you to speak,” said Vance. 

“My brothers” — and his voice rang out clear and distinct, 
but not another word could he utter. Vance saw his appeal- 
ing glance, saw his lips tremble and nodded to Harold. The 
young man caught his meaning, and rapping, sharply cried: 

“My Brothers, it is Eleven o’clock.” 


CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE. 


HE work on the Lake City and Southeastern Trol- 
ley Line was pushed to the utmost as soon as it 
was known that no further attempts would be 
made to interfere with the project. What report 
Flood made Vance never knew, but the fact that 
the Great Northern was interested and Standhope was mak- 
ing every hour count by his personal supervision, all of which 
known to the Syndicate, led that body of capitalists to make 
no further effort to get possession of the line. All the funds 
needed and much more was within easy reach. To the stock- 
holders who had listened to Flood, and who for a time were 
dissatisfied, had repeated opportunities to dispose of their 
stock at a figure more than ordinarily tempting. 

Two farmers, somewhat pressed for money, sold their 
holdings, and this stock was secured by Dr. Harley. 

When the cars for the road came, the doctor insisted that 
Vance take every advantage a cash payment might offer. 
While the credit of the road was such that all the time needed 
could be easily secured, yet there was always a saving when 
a cheque awaited every delivery. 

“There are fifty thousand dollars in the bank that 1 can 
easily spare, and it is yours to use, Vance. I want such se- 
curity as you may suggest, but will not accept interest,” said 
the doctor. 

“While it is not necessary, and while the road can borrow 
all the money needed, I will accept your offer. The security 
your attorney, not yourself, will arrange with Judge Tomp- 


T 


219 


220 


NORMA LANE 


kins. You know the Judge has looked after my affairs for 
years, and you know, too, that if you had no one to repre- 
sent you he would take no advantage that honor did not 
permit.” 

‘Tou speak of my attorney, Vance, what use do you 
imagine I have for an attorney?” 

“You have a hundred thousand dollars to care for, and 
while you have always been poor, you are not in that condi- 
tion now. Not as fortunes go in this city. Now, let me say 
something plain to you; you are an able man in most things, 
but you have about as much knowledge of the value of a 
dollar as a child. You need not attempt to look indignant — 
it is true, and it is a friend who tells another the truth some- 
times, even though that truth hurts. I will accept that $50,000 
on the condition I have outlined. If you have no attorney, 
get Drake, he is capable and is honest, as honest as Judge 
Tompkins, and I can pay him no higher compliment.” 

“All right, Vance, if you think best, but I had intended 
that you should give me your note for the amount, and if I 
died before it was paid. I’d arrange to pay it to Marion. She 
will get the bulk of what I leave. It would sort of tickle her 
grandfather if he could know it.” 

“You God blessed old idiot, I told you, you needed an 
attorney,” and Vance hurried away. 

It was shortly after this that Mrs. Woodward was installed 
in the Railway office. There was much that she could do, as 
she quickly became familiar with the typewriter, although she 
was a mere novice as yet in stenography. All her spare time 
was devoted to mastering the cabalistic signs, and her apti- 
tude gave early promise of success. It was to Norma she had 
expressed a hope that Mr. Vance would give her opportunity 
— give her a chance when she should fit herself for office 
work. 


NORMA LANE 


22 1 

Flood had not sent for her and she had no desire to go 
to him, although she would have done so had he requested. 
She remembered that Drake had promised a thousand dollars 
if Flood should fail. When she reached Lake City, and 
learned to know Norma Lane, and understood the motive that 
prompted Drake to make the offer, she knew she could 
accept no money from him or from Mr. Vance that she did 
not earn. She realized that these men would gladly have 
paid any sum within their means to preserve the honor of 
Norma Lane. Not that she was one to become abandonee, 
but she might have been the victim of a false marriage, or 
marry a man who had a wife and thus bring sorrow and dis- 
grace. 

She realized that when Drake met her in New York, he 
felt that Norma might not listen to a warning even from him. 
Therefore, her presence was wanted in Lake City, and he, 
the gentleman she felt him to be, would do all he had prom- 
ised, or all that honor prompted him to do. 

When her husband had flung the stinging insult that day 
at the Casino, she knew that the pale remnant of her love 
for him was dead. When Drake was about to hurl himself 
upon this most cowardly of husbands to punish him for the 
insult, she knew a new sentiment had come into her life. It 
was not love — she dared not love him — but it was that sort 
of admiration that would kindle into love’s flame should his 
heart throb answer hers. 

Then she knew that if he offered her the money he had 
promised, the money Flood would never offer, it would wound 
her deeply. Perhaps this thought came to Drake, but he had 
promised. Without question she came when he asked her. 
She was a stranger here ; a guest of the girl she helped save, 
but this could not last. 

His position was most delicate. In the depths of her 
soulful eyes he saw that she trusted him fully, but he seldom 


222 


NORMA LANE 


met her. She was yet the wife of this man who ran away, 
and he was powerless to offer her protection. 

Until she met her husband, there was nothing to do; there 
was nothing she could do but wait until the fitting moment 
planned by others. It was the next day after the Casino epi- 
sode that Jessie Woodward — Jessie, as she insisted Norma 
should call her — not Mrs. Woodward — said to Norma, “I 
have learned to love this place and the great city will seem 
so cold, so desolate and so lonely with all its millions when 1 
go back.” 

“But you are not going back — you must not dream of it, 
Jessie, dear, for I have planned so much for you.” 

“Norma, you have been so good to me — so sweet — more 
than a sister could be, but because I’ve learned to love you, 
I will not be a burden to you, a hanger on. I could not do 
that even though I grow sick at heart at thought of leaving 
you.” 

“Please don’t talk of leaving me now, and never again 
must you say a word about being ‘a hanger on.’ When I 
recall what you and Mr. Drake did for me, I feel that I can 
never repay you. Neil will soon be earning a fine salary and 
I have this home — a home he can call his when we marry, 
as we will very soon now. This, of course, is Marion’s home, 
also, and yours too.” 

“But when Mr. Dare comes he will not like it, although 
he is too much of a gentleman to let me see that I am in the 
way.” 

“Don’t you know, dear, that he is so glad to get me back, 
as he puts it, that he will be the last one to listen to your leav- 
ing Lake City, or here, where you are ever welcome. He says 
your coming made him one of the happiest of men. Naturally 
it is very foolish in him to think he is so supremely happy, 
because I am to be his wife, but he is, and he says that he 
■is personally indebted to you to such an extent that he can 


NORMA LANE 


223 


never pay you. So you see that settles the Dare side of the 
case.” 

“That is very lovely of both of you, and you cannot know 
how a deserted wife, deserted among strangers, but the dear- 
est, most splendid strangers a lonely woman ever met, appre- 
ciates your nobility as well as generosity. 

“I was more among strangers in New York than here, I 
must admit, more lonely there than here, quite as much de- 
serted there as here, and while I appreciate in every way 
possible the beauty of your friendship, I feel that I am not 
one of you. You spoke of what Mr. Drake and I did for you 
— he did much — I very little. He found me almost destitute 
and promised me shelter, friends and employment. I have 
had all in abundance except the latter. I do not want to 
bother him, in fact, I will not, but I wish he might do some- 
thing in the way of employment. There is one thing I will 
mention to no one but you, Norma. I told him in New York 
that my husband offered me $1000 if I would seek a divorce 
from him — the reason, of course, you know. He said if I 
would come with him I should have the thousand whether Mr. 
Woodward gave it or not. The last time we met he told me 
that he had a long interview with my husband and he expected 
to get the money promised me. 

“Now, Norma,” she continued, “I believe he is such a 
perfectly honorable man, such a gentleman, that he will come 
to me one of these days with that money. He will come with 
it, and he will tell me an untruth. He is rich, I am told, and 
he and Mr. Vance may fix it up to pay me, and pretend it was 
Mr. Woodward sent it. You don’t know, dear, how I fear 
they will do that. You know I cannot accept money from 
either one. If my husband had that much money he would 
spend it on himself. I expect nothing from him, now that he 
has lost you. Mr. Vance will need help soon and I will try 
so hard to please him if he will give me a chance.” 


224 


NORMA LANE 


“I have reason to think he will give you that chance,” 
replied Norma, “whenever I am willing to let you go. I have 
not spent half my allowance and when you need money you 
shall take it from me. I might have lost Neil, but for you, 
and I wouldn’t take a lot of thousands for him, now that I’ve 
promised to be his wife. If you desire it, you can fit yourself 
for a position in Mr. Vance’s office, but I’m not ready to let 
you go.” 

“Norma, dear,” she cried, and in a moment she was sob- 
bing in the girl’s arms, “did ever a forlorn creature find such 
friends. 

“Jessie Woodward, never say ‘forlorn creature’ again in 
my presence. You are everything that is dear and sweet, and 
one of these days, when you have forgotten, absolutely for- 
gotten, you will be a beautiful girl again, and there will come 
to you one of King Arthur’s Knights, and here where the roses 
bloom and the birds sing you will be a gloriously happy 
woman.” 

“Norma, do you know what it is to be so happy that you 
just must cry and cry for pure joy?” 

“Yes, when 1 came back to Neil, and his strong, brave 
arms were about me, I knew,” Norma said. 

It was that day or perhaps the next that Drake called upon 
Wilberton Vance to discuss the situation as it concerned Mrs. 
Woodward. Drake related the conversation with her in New 
York. He told how he had promised her a position if she 
would come, a position where she could earn an honorable 
living, and where she would be among friends. 

“She came,” he said, “asking nothing, demanding noth- 
ing. She trusted me, she believed in me. It was the simple 
and beautiful trust of a child, and now that the husband has 
gone without a word to her, it is my duty to see that my 
promise is made good. As you know, I am as willing as I am 
able to keep faith, but the question is, how can I do it with- 


NORMA LANE 


225 


out offending one as sensible, as sensitive and modest as she. 
There is one feature I have never mentioned even to you. She 
showed me a letter from Flood offering her a thousand dollars 
if she would secure a divorce that he might be free to marry 
Norma. I told her frankly that if she should come with me 
and save this girl, I would see that she got this thousand. 
Since she has learned to know us, since she has become so 
devoted to Norma, she would be offended if she should learn 
that the thousand came from me. The question now is, what 
can I do ? There is a promise. I made it in good faith. When 
she tacitly accepted the offer, she believed she would get it, 
because I could see she believed in me. Some way I feel 
that she would not look kindly upon my offer to make my 
promise good.” 

“You don’t propose to take it upon yourself, do you Drake, 
to do this for Norma and leave me out — I, her friend and 
guardian? No, I must have a part in this.” 

“There is one part of my promise you can make good. You 
will soon need an increased office force, Vance, will you not 
offer her a place?” 

“I had hoped she might ask me — 1 felt a diffidence in 
offering her a clerkship.” 

“Then you will make a place for her?” 

“Most assuredly.” 

“I am grateful, Vance — I thank you sincerely.” 

“Why are you grateful? I am sure I should be most 
interested,” and Vance did not let the searching eyes of the 
young attorney see the twinkle in his own. 

“Grateful because I see a promise fulfilled. Grateful be- 
cause I should have offered her a place in my office — a posi- 
tion she might have felt a delicacy in accepting,” replied 
Drake, with dignity. 

“Suppose we see the doctor about that thousand dollar 
promise. If that is ever paid to her he will want to do his 


226 


NORMA LANE 


share. His undying affection for the memory of his old Cap- 
tain, Norma’s grandfather, would cause him to feel hurt if he 
were not consulted. Let us think this over and talk to him 
about it.” 

As Dr. Harley was a daily visitor at Vance’s office, upon 
some pretext or another, or without pretext, it was not a start- 
ling thing that he happened in while Vance and Drake were 
discussing the affairs of Mrs. Woodward. 

“We were talking about you, doctor,” said Vance. 

“Thank you, gentlemen, and more especially that neither 
of you alluded to that adage whose edge is blunted and nicked 
by the years — I need not quote it.” 

“The old saw is as infirm as it is aged,” remarked Drake, 
“but your name was mentioned by Mr. Vance in connection 
with a matter we were discussing. With your permission I’ll 
review the case briefly. When Drake had concluded the doc- 
tor said: “I am glad you mentioned the matter, gentlemen. 
If that promise of yours is made good, and it should be, I 
want in on the ground floor, as they put it in financial circles. 
Here is my plan; let me give her a cheque, and you repay 
me each one his share, permitting me to give one-half. I 
can understand how a young man like Drake would feel em- 
barrassed, but coming from an old fellow like me, it is dif- 
ferent. I believe I can make her understand that we, friends 
of Norma, consider ourselves in her debt yet, and when I 
come to think of it, neither one of you should pay any part of 
it. These granddaughters of Elisha Lane are all I have on 
earth, and when I do that it will be only a part of my obliga- 
tion.” 

“What would you have done with that obligation, as you 
call it, beautiful and sentimental as it is — if it was not for 
that farm and the oil on it?” asked Vance. 

“I could only sit about and look on with an aching heart. 
That is all I could have done a few short weeks ago, but now 


NORMA LANE 


227 


I have it and can spend it as I wish. What do you say, gentle- 
men? Let me run down there while you wait. I’ll offer it 
anyway.” 

He was away before they could reply, and while he was 
gone The Evening Telegram was delivered at the office. Drake 
turned its pages indifferently. He glanced casually at the 
headlines announcing a railway wreck near a small town in 
New Jersey. He sketched the account hurriedly, until he 
came to the list of the injured and dead. 

“Vance,” he cried, “you were truly a prophet when you 
said to Neil at the Casino: ‘Stop, vengeance is mine, saith 
the Lord.’ ” 

“What is it?” asked Vance, interested at once. 

“Among those hurt beyond chance of recovery,” he read, 
“is a representative of a New York financial company, Ken- 
nedy Woodward ” 

At that moment the doctor returned, exclaiming: “It is 
useless, gentlemen, she will not listen to me — she absolutely 
refuses.” 

“The matter is settled, doctor; read that,” said Drake. 
“I’m going East tonight — I may be in time,” and Drake ab- 
ruptly left. 

“Well, well, well,” and the veteran of many battles sat 
staring at the paper. “Abe Thomas would say it was the hand 
of Providence.” 

“And what do you say?” asked Vance. 

“I would say it was an accident, providential or other- 
wise, that answered the ends of justice. I think I can see, 
also, that if she had taken my cheque, it would have been 
paid back one of these days.” 

“Vance nodded assent, and smiled, absently. “We had 
best not tell her,” he said. 

“No, Drake will tell her all about it when he comes back.” 


CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR. 


WING to the prominence of the Vance and Lane 
families in Lake City, there was more than the 
usual amount of gossip concerning the prospective 
weddings. The society columns of the local news- 
papers announced the return of Jean Vance from 
Darby Center, where she had been visiting Miss Eleanor Clay, 
who had been the guest of Miss Vance earlier in the season. 
Jean had not sought to keep the approaching nuptials a secret, 
and this added to the gossip common to such occasions, but 
the status of affairs between Neil and Norma were not less 
discussed because less was publicly known. 

Naturally the marriage of the daughter of the man at the 
head of the long desired railway, the Lake City and South- 
eastern, to the well-known young newspaper man would at- 
tract more attention than the wedding of Mr. Vance’s chief 
clerk to his ward, Norma Lane. Neil had said: “We need 
not wait, Norma, I will not be quite content until you are 
mine by solemn vows, as well as promise.” But Norma, 
remembering the short time that had elapsed since some of 
her girl friends had shunned her, argued that they wait until 
after Harold and Jean had married. It was only in the ex- 
clusive set, as some were pleased to designate that portion of 
Lake City’s society, in which Jean Vance was an acknowledged 
leader, that the gossip concerning Norma, was current. That 
it was as a story well forgotten was largely due to Jean. 
Impulsive ever, she was as free to praise as she was prompt 
to blame. 


o 


228 


NORMA LANE 


229 


While Jean and Norma were never seen together, and in 
fact had never spoken since that June evening when Jean 
had so cuttingly cried: “Good evening, Miss Lane,” it was 
Jean who silenced all comment reflecting upon Norma, by 
those who were ever willing to be dominated by the daughter 
of the magnate, Wilberton Vance. 

Neil had heard of this, and was quick to convey the same 
to Norma. He observed that his betrothed received the infor- 
mation without comment. 

“I wish it were possible and you and Jean were friends 
as in the past,” he said, “now that she is as prompt to do you 
justice as she was to censure. Harold and I are comrades. 
Her father is my great, good friend, and he is your guardian 
and unquestioned friend.” 

“My unquestioned friend, yes; you have said it, and if it 
was anyone but the daughter of that friend 1 could have let 
the insult pass more easily. You are the only one, my dear, 
generous boy, who had reason to complain, but let us not 
refer to that. I prefer to forget, if I can, just as one tries to 
forget an ugly dream.” 

Neil knew that time would heal the wound, and did not 
refer to it again until Norma received Jean’s note. Harold 
had hinted to Jean, that as she had given the offense — but 
diplomatically made excuse for the action — it would be a 
gracious act on her part to extend such symbol of peace as 
girls could best appreciate and understand. 

“Harold, I was wrong, clearly wrong. I know that now, 
and while I do not think it wise to call upon Norma, I will 
write to her at once.” 

When Jean had finished the note, she gave it to Harold to 
read. 

“Dear Miss Lane,” it ran, “I want to call you Norma, as 
in the past, but first, before I attempt a familiar or endearing 
term, I wish to offer an apology too long delayed. 


230 


NORMA LANE 


“It will be of little moment to refer to the closed incident, 
which I, as much as yourself, will care to forget. I did you 
a great wrong in thought, but never did 1 give utterance to 
my mistaken opinions to others of our set. That I wish most 
of all that you will believe. I am quite as desirous as Harold 
that the old relationship may be resumed. My dear father, 
who was right when 1 was wrong, wishes it might be. 

“The splendid gentleman, so fully trusted ,and heartily 
loved by my father, he who will be your husband, I know is 
hoping that we shall be friends, and as that is my earnest 
wish, I remain. Your friend, 

“Jean Vance.'’ 

“That is splendid of you, my Jean, and she will be happy 
to receive it, Tm sure,” Harold said. 

It was the next day that Jean read with deep interest 
Norma’s reply. The introductory was quite as formal as was 
Jean’s, and while less generous, as was to be expected, was 
frank and gracious. 

“Previous to receiving your kind note,” it read, “it was 
my purpose, had we met face to face, to speak to you as you 
did to me. It was to be ‘Good evening, Miss Vance,’ but your 
communication prevents that. The reference in it to your 
father appeals to me. I remember my father; I love and 
revere his memory, and remembering how devoted these men 
— your father and mine — were to each other, I feel free to 
tell you, that Wilberton Vance’s own daughter loves him 
little more than I, and knowing his wishes, I would deserve 
little of his regard if I did not receive your note in the spirit 
in which it was meant. 

“I must say, Jean, that the wound smarts yet. I confess 
freely my foolish, aye more than foolish — my wicked neglect 
of Neil, but I felt that you who knew me as well as any of 
our set and sex should not have believed me so lost to decency 


NORMA LANE 


231 


that I would forget what the daughter of Henry S. Lane owed, 
not only to her friends , but to herself. 

“Nothing in your note was so healing to the old wound, as 
your reference to Neil. I truly rejoice that Mr. Brady and 
you will be happy as husband and wife, and I believe you will 
wish my own loyal Neil as great a measure of happiness, even 
though he has bestowed his affections upon one as undeserv- 
ing as myself. 

“Time will heal the smart, and the world need not know 
that once we were bitter enemies, and for the sake of the men 
we love let us so conduct ourselves that no shadow of sus- 
picion that all is not right betwen us, may fall upon them, 
because of an incident in our lives — an incident that you say, 
is closed. 

“With friendly regard, 

“I am yours, 

“Norma Lane.” 

“For the sake of the men we love ” Neil read this line 

aloud, and re-read it. The girl sitting close beside him blushed 
at the reading, but rejoiced as she saw the wealth of love 
and tenderness in his eyes. 

“Have you made a copy of this, Norma?” he asked. 

“Why should I care to keep a copy?” 

“In the first place, it is an important communication, and 
you should retain a copy. In the second place, it is very 
beautiful and precious to me,” said Neil, “so much so, that I 
want a copy, and together we will keep it so that if we should 
find ourselves on the verge of a quarrel sometime — and 
Norma, dear, we are only human — we shall seek that letter 
to Jean Vance, and as we read it again we can recall only the 
tenderer episodes of our lives, and put in the heart’s waste- 
basket all that we care to forget.” 

Jessie Woodward read it also, and commended the senti- 
ment and dignity of the note. She was pleased that there 


232 


NORMA LANE 


was a prospect of peace between the young ladies — a peace 
that would be a source of happiness to Neil and Harold. 

Neil had not told Norma of the railway accident, and by 
some strange chance, the local newspaper containing the 
account was not read by either Norma or Mrs. Woodward. 
Thus it was that she was not aware of the hurried eastern trip 
taken by John Adams Drake, or the fate that had overtaken 
her husband. 

When she had refused the cheque offered by Dr. Harley, 
she anticipated a call from Mr. Drake, or some reference being 
made by Mr. Vance to her refusal, but Vance had made no 

comment, and Mr. Drake had not put in an appearance. 
******** 

Before Drake reached the village near the scene of the 
accident, all the wounded were removed. He found Wood- 
ward in the village, and when the surgeon in attendance re- 
fused him admittance he felt that his journey had been in 
vain. He learned, however, that while recovery was hopeless. 
Flood might live several days. All that science could suggest 
was being done for the sufferer. Drake asked for an inter- 
view with the surgeon, which request was acceded to. 

“Are you a friend of the injured man?” asked the surgeon, 
somewhat impatiently. 

“To be frank with you, I am not, but with death impend- 
ing I do not feel that I am his enemy. I represent one who 
would be at his side now if he had not deserted her. You 
understand, I presume, that I refer to his wife. So far as I 
know she is ignorant of his condition, although friends may 
have told her. If you can assure me that there is a chance 
that he may live, and my seeing him would lessen that chance, 
1 do not ask admittance, but if not, there are reasons why I 
should be permitted to speak to him.” 

“If he wishes to see you, I will not interfere. I am here 
by orders of the company. I am one of the surgeons in the 


NORMA LANE 


233 


employ of the railroad, and it is my duty to do all I can to 
save his life. You are a lawyer, are you not?” 

“I am. I am not here, however, in a professional capa- 
city,” answered Drake. 

was about to suggest, if you are, there will be time 
enough to bring action when he dies.” 

“If I can see him, it may prevent that which you seem to 
fear.” 

“Who shall I say waits to see him?” 

“It might startle him less if I accompanied you — if we 
went quietly to him, without announcement. I will obey your 
orders implicitly, however,” was Drake’s reply. 

“Some one to see you. Flood,” said the surgeon. 

Flood slowly turned toward the man who waited silently 
for recognition. At first the victim of the railway disaster 
failed to recognize the visitor. The light had almost gone 
from the flashing eyes that had wrought havoc with heart of 
woman. 

“What do you want?” he asked, feebly. 

“I came to see if there was anything I could do for you?” 
replied Drake. 

“Nothing,” said the injured man. 

“Do you wish to see your wife?” 

“It is too late now.” 

“I’ll telegraph her if you wish.” 

“Would she come, do you think?” 

“I am sure she would.” 

“Does she know I am hurt?” 

“That I do not know. I read the account of the accident 
yesterday. I came at once. It was thought best not to tell 
her until I came; then, if you wished, Mr. Vance would urge 
her to come at once.” 


234 


NORMA LANE 


“She had better not come. I’ll soon be out of the way. I 
have nothing against you. I hope you will be better to her 
than I’ve been.” 

“I am not here to cause you distress. Please say nothing 
fui^ther on that subject. She will soon go to work for Mr. 
Vance. That is the arrangement. She is among friends who 
will not see her want for anything. I came to see if there was 
anything I could do for you such as she might care to have 
me do, or do hereself if she were here. Then I felt that you 
might have some message for her, or care to make some pro- 
vision for her.” 

“Doctor, I want to talk to this man alone. You’ve done 
your duty. It might save trouble if you sent for the railroad’s 
attorney. 1 may be worth more to her dead than I was alive. 
Fix it up between you.” A great wave of pain swept over him 
and he could not suppress his moans. He grew easier pres- 
ently, and the doctor withdrew. ’T suppose you know about 
that thousand dollars 1 promised.” 

“Yes, I know,” Drake answered, gently. 

“But I did not get the girl.” 

“This is not the hour to remember that.” 

“What do you want me to do?” 

“You suggested just now that the Company might settle 
with her. 1 have no authority to speak for her. I know not 
what she would say if she knew the situation. I wish to tell 
you what she said when I met her in New York.” 

When Drake had told all that was said about his offer of 
$1,000 Flood nodded feebly. “They will pay more than that,” 
he said. 

“Is it your wish that she shall get whatever the Company 
will pay?” 

“Yes,” he said. “Drake, will you do something for a fel- 
low that can’t do anything any more?” 

“Anything honorable that I can do.” 


NORMA LANE 


235 


“It is most too late to do anything dishonorable on my 
part, ain’t it?” 

“What can I do?” Drake asked. 

“The Syndicate owes me $500.00. That will bury me, and 
pay a few bills that may come in. I owe some in Lake City. 
Make the Syndicate pay me. I’ll sign the paper you will write 
for me. The surgeon will witness it. Fix things quick now — 
these pains will finish me.” 

The attorney for the railway was in the village looking 
after the interests of his Company. He and Drake met, and 
the matter was easily adjusted. When it was explained to 
Flood, he seemed pleased that he was able at the end of his 
career to do something for the wife he had wronged and 
neglected. He was able to sign his name to the papers pre- 
pared by Drake, relating to his affairs for the Company which 
employed him. 

When the lawyer was about to leave for New York to get 
his money. Flood having given directions for its disbursement. 
Drake said: “I’ll see you when I get back.” 

“Yes, you’ll see me, but I won’t have a word to say.” 

When Drake returned the undertaker had completed his 
work. He at once wired Norma Lane 

“Kennedy Woodward died this morning at 5 o’clock. 

(Signed.) “John Adams Drake.” 


CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE. 


T was an eventful year that followed the first appear- 
ance in Lake City of Kennedy Woodward. What 
happened during that year has been recorded, 
except certain events that were as happy as they 
were interesting. 

While the cars on the Lake City and Southeastern could 
have been put in use at least a week earlier, it was Vance’s 
purpose to make the formal opening of the road to the public 
on the anniversary of Flood’s first visit to his office. He who 
sought to wreck the fond hopes of Lake City’s first citizen, had 
gone from earth, but Vance could never forget the anxious 
hours that followed the coming of this stranger. Those 
anxious hours had passed. 

During that year he had learned to know his friends. 
There were those who were lukewarm, who should have been 
interested, but all this was forgotten when the first car with 
Mark Singleton, as conductor, swung around the curve by the 
Casino and disappeared in the distance along the lake shore. 
Mark was to begin his work as conductor, and if necessary, 
serve as motorman. 

This was to be the beginning, for it was Vance’s intention 
to promote him until he became assistant manager and have 
general charge of the men operating the passenger depart- 
ment. Neil Dare was the acting superintendent. Naturally, 
Mr. Vance, the president of the company, was the general 
superintendent as well. 

Mr. Vance’s private coach followed the first car, which 
was crowded to its utmost when it left Lake City, and at each 


1 

[ 



236 


NORMA LANE 


237 


stop many were waiting. At Eden, where the first stop was 
made, more than a hundred enthusiastic villagers and country 
folk sought an opportunity to enjoy their first trolley ride. 

Mark announced to the disappointed crowd that Mr. Vance 
would soon arrive and explain what provision he had made 
for his friends at Eden. He thought it best to telephone head- 
quarters and explain the situation. He found that Vance and 
his party were about to start. 

“Tell our friends in Eden,” Vance said, “that I will see 
them when I get there and make provision for them.” 

While Mark’s car was crowded, as has been said, and he 
had refused many, he made one exception. He was approach- 
ing a farm that even from a distance he recognized, and for 
a moment — a fleeting moment — thought how he might have 
revenge for a most unpleasant experience. He was wonder- 
ing if Isaac Leedy, the man with the horse whip, the strenu- 
ous defender of Doctor Harley, would be waiting to take the 
car. 

In front of Leedy’s house was a sign that showed a stop- 
ping place. Mark, from the rear platform, observed the barn- 
yard where he and Leedy had their brief dispute. The motor- 
man, obeying orders, slowed down, but did not stop unless 
ordered by signal. Mark recognized the farmer who gave a 
signal which the motorman was about to ignore. Conductor 
Singleton gave the sharp, imperative order that was acted 
upon promptly, and the car stopped. 

Now was his opportunity to show his authority. No one 
could say that he had not the right to refuse to take the farmer 
and his wife aboard. He could have said: “The car is full, 
sir, stand aside.” 

As quickly as the temptation came it passed, and there 
flashed the more generous impulse, as Mark cried: “There 
is nothing but standing room, Mr. Leedy, and mighty little 
of that. Swing on, if you wish to.” 


238 


NORMA LANE 


Mr. and Mrs. Leedy were quickly jammed in with the 
other passengers. Mark proved to be a model conductor — 
perhaps the only one of his kind — for an ungainly, loud- 
voiced sort of hoodlum who had been annoying all that sat 
near him was surprised to find himself standing in the 
crowded aisle. It came about in this manner: “Here, get up 
quick,” the conductor was looking fixedly into the eyes of the 
big fellow, who, without pausing to ask why, arose. 

“Take this seat, Mrs. Leedy,” said Mark, and as she, 
much surprised, took the vacated seat, Mark pleasantly ex- 
pressed his thanks to the big fellow who was debating whether 
to get angry or laugh it off. 

Leedy, who had observed the occurrence, exclaimed: “I’ll 
swan to man, it’s the fellow I horsewhipped.” 

When Mark, resuming his place on the platform, smiled 
at the farmer, that sturdy yeoman reached his hand, saying: 
“I didn’t know you at first. Thank you for getting my wife 
a seat.” 

“I told you I’d get even with you sometime.” 

“Well, by Heck, you did. How does it happen you’re 
here?” 

“It is too long a story to tell now. Sometime I’ll tell you 
all about it. I want to say, though, that you don’t like that 
old friend of yours, the doctor, any better than I do.” 

“You don’t say.” Leedy was dumb with surprise. After a 
time he said in softened tones: “Some day, when you got a 
bit of time, bring old doc out an’ both of you stop off to din- 
ner.” 

In Vance’s coach, including the president and his wife, 
were his daughter, Mrs. Harold Brady and husband, as Jean 
would have it; Aunt Louise Clay, who came all the way from 
Darby Center to have part in the occasion, and visit her be- 
loved niece and nephew, “Wilbert,” as she called him; Doctor 
Harley, Marion Lane, Neil Dare and Norma Lane. Foxhall 


NORMA LANE 


239 


Standhope was one of the party, but when Mark’s message 
came and Neil was about to leave them that one in authority 
might remain on duty, Standhope demurred. 

“I will be general manager today,” he said. “There is 
little use in me going now; there will be time enough later. 
This is your day, Neil, and a certain young lady will be sadly 
disappointed if the acting manager is not along.” 

“Standhope is right; Neil, come on — all aboard,” shouted 
Vance, and the men who had been most faithful to the pro- 
ject, and the ladies whose interest and enthusiasm was little 
less than these who had planned and executed this oft-wished 
for undertaking, were off for a joyous ride over the new road. 

At Dr. Harley’s suggestion a car was ordered to follow 
in twenty minutes, the doors of which were not to be opened 
until it reached Eden. 

“They were faithful there, through it all,” he said, “and 
if any special favors are shown, let Eden be the exception.” 

“If your friends, or our friends, rather, Mr. and Mrs. 
Thomas, are waiting to go, they will find room in this car,” 
said Vance. 

“There is nothing you could have suggested, my friend, 
that shall make me forget the years — make me feel that I 
am a boy again — as your offer for a place here for Abe and 
his wife.” 

Far back in the shifting, struggling mass of villagers Neil 
espied the farmer and his wife. They had evidently planned 
to make a day of it, if the basket Abe was bending under 
could be considered proof. He made his way toward them 
with difficulty, and while Vance was telling how a special car 
was coming that would have no passengers until his friends 
in Eden were accommodated, Neil and Abe struggled through 
the crowd with the heavy basket. 

Mrs. Thomas had scarce entered the car when the doctor 
shouted: “Have you any of those little biscuits, Malinda?” 


240 


NORMA LANE 


“Dozens of them, doctor, and peach preserves for spread,” 
she answered. 

“Glory be ” he cried. 

“If that man is ever converted the Lord will have to stuff 
him first,” said Aunt Louise. 

The doctor found an opportunity later to reply. The young 
people had sung all the happy songs they knew, and these 
songs were hushed only when Mrs. Thomas began emptying 
the great basket. She was not the only one to remember that 
food as well as laughter and song was desirable on such an 
occasion. The doctor had inspected the car, and knowing that 
the ladies were prepared to serve lunch without convenient 
tables, had a number of neatly planed boards piled on the rear 
platform. 

When Harold asked whether he anticipated turning the 
president’s coach into an express car, he informed the young 
man that the president’s son-in-law might offer thanks instead 
of criticism when the hour came to eat. 

When Aunt Louise saw these portable tables loaded with 
tempting viands, she began to sing a hymn in unmelodious 
tones : 


“Marrow and fatness are the food. 

His bounteous hand bestows ; 

Wine on the lees, and well refined. 

In rich abundance flows. 

“But O! what draughts of bliss unknown. 

What dainties shall be given. 

When, with the myriads round the throne. 

We join the feast of heaven.” 

The doctor made a wry face as the discordant notes 
pierced his soul and said: “The Lord must have stuffed some 
other people before conversion.” 


NORMA LANE 


241 


Eleanor, who was near him, exclaimed: “Don't be cruel, 
doctor, poor Aunt is so happy today.” 

“So was I until your Aunt began that Indian chant.” 

“Eleanor, is that unregenerate mortal making fun of the 
hymn I was singing?” 

“Oh, you were singing, were you? I wouldn’t have sus- 
picioned it. Apropos of that last line of the hymn you sung 
so — so strangely,” continued the doctor with serious face, and 
laughing eyes — “that ‘feast of heaven,’ remind me of the 
old negro woman I told you about once. A neighbor read in 
a county paper, one winter day, how the thermometer regis- 
tered ten degrees below zero at Paradise, a village near by. 
‘I did not suppose it got so cold as that in heaven,’ he said, 
jokingly. 

“ ‘Ten below zero in heaven?’ cried the colored woman; 
‘urn, urn, I alius wanted ter go there, too; I done reckon I 
couldn’t go to de odder place des fru de wintah?’ ” 

The doctor’s smile was reminiscent as he glanced at Miss 
Clay. 

“If that incident ever occurred — and I doubt it — it was 
Jno. P. Harley who read the paper,” she answered, bruskly. 

Thus with feasting and fun, with story, song and good 
humored repartee, with cars crowded all the day with de- 
lighted country lads, all the more delighted that the girls, 
dressed in their Sunday best, were obliged to sit close to them 
— very close, indeed, all on account of the crowded condition 
of the car, of course — and thus the Lake City and South- 
eastern traction line began its successful life. It was a day of 
rejoicing, not only for the management, but a day of unques- 
tioned joy to all who could find room on the cars. 

There had not been an accident, no annoying waits, no un- 
pleasant incidents to mar the day ; the only cause of complaint 
was the lack of cars. Even the disappointed were generous 


242 


NORMA LANE 


enough to concede that no new road could furnish transpor- 
tation for such numbers. 

Foxhall Standhope received the congratulations of the 
president and his party for the splendid manner in which he 
had handled all the details, and for the seeming perfect equip- 
ment of the road. 

“That which began in gloom has ended gloriously,” he 
said, “and I am proud to have had a part in it. Never have I 
felt such interest in a road, or such affection for those con- 
nected with it.” 

“There will always be a place at our firesides, at our 
tables, and in our hearts,” replied Vance. “You came in the 
midst of the gloom, as you have said, and as you leave us, the 
sun is shining.” 

It was three months after the auspicious opening of the 
road that Manager Neil Dare took a vacation. Among all the 
sons of men who have enjoyed hours of triumph and joy un- 
speakable, few were more capable of enjoying such triumph, 
and few have lived, and left earth who deserved more. Men 
have risen to power and greatness, and all too often these 
men of power crushed the weaker brother, or trampled upon 
women’s hearts to reach the top. Neil Dare lived the solemn 
obligation he had taken. 

It was noon — high noon they called it — when the organ 
began the immortal wedding march. The great auditorium of 
the church was packed. Norma had intended being married 
at home, where only those who had believed in her through 
it all would be invited, but this would leave Jean Vance Brady 
out, and naturally, Harold as well, Neil’s devoted friend, and 
so that idea was abandoned. 

“If you want to be Exalted Ruler next year,” said many 
of his lodge friends, half in earnest and half in jest, “you will 
invite the entire lodge.” 


NORMA LANE 


243 


When Norma heard this, and remembering their loyalty 
and devotion to her when friends were needed, said : 

“Neil, they must come and see us wedded. They want to 
come and I want them — when I think of papa I think of them 
— and if he knew he would like me to do this.” 

The wedding was announced for St. Andrews, and so on 
this noon of a beautiful September day, they were wed — 
these who had suffered — but through suffering this hour was 
made more glorious. 

The lodge was seated in a body, and each member looked 
and peered with more curiosity than men are supposed to pos- 
sess to see if Norma — beautiful, radiant Norma — wore the 
necklace they had bought. 

Vance was to have given the bride in place of the “absent” 
one, but gave way when he learned by the merest chance that 
the doctor had hoped he might have been chosen. 

When Vance asked him about it, he said: 

“I naturally supposed you would, but you have had your 
day, when you gave Jean to that boy we all like, but I am 
alone, you know, these grandchildren of my Captain are all 
I have and I thought Td like to stand instead of her father.” 

“And you shall,” Vance answered. “That is, of course, if 
Norma don’t object.” 

Norma did not object. The tears for a moment dimmed 
her beautiful eyes, as she put her hand upon his shoulder with 
all the trust and affection of a daughter. “We want you — 
Neil and I do — and it will please Marion.” 

She saw the proud smile that glorified his war-scarred 
face — saw the smile that lighted his lips die slowly as he 
looked away from her — off into the blue summer sky where 
white clouds were floating — and in its place came an expres- 
sion of peace and love unutterable. 

******** 


244 


NORMA LANE 


“It was near the sundown of that day that the doctor 
strolled over to the Lane residence to see Marion. “She will 
feel a bit lonely, poor child,” he said to himself, “now that 
Norma is gone, and Neil. 

He heard voices, low toned and tuned in sympathy with 
his great loving soul, that embraced all of mankind worthy 
of being loved, and he knew who was talking so low and 
earnestly to Jessie Woodward. 

Presently Marion came and sat where the sinking sun 
turned each hair into a thread of gold. He glanced at her 
furtively. The glory and beauty of a young girl that one loves 
when he is old is blinding. 

“Of course, you will be with Norma and Neil, but I’ve 
thought you ought to look to me — you ought to consider me 
in the light of a father — it seems to me I’d be proud to claim 
you, and when 1 go away there is my money that will be yours. 
Some day,” continued the doctor, and the pathetic note of 
which he was unconscious, touched the heart of the young girl 
strangely. “Some day, you’ll go away from me, like Norma 
went today, and, and, I’ll be ready then to report — some- 
where — wherever your grandfather is. I’ll say ‘Present, 
Captain’ — it was an unconscious salute he gave — ‘I waited 
until your grand children were cared for, and then I came 
away.’ ” 

“Your devotion to me, doctor,” Marion replied, in tones 
as tender as his had been, “has been such that if I can pre- 
vent I won’t let you ‘report,’ as you call it, for many and many 
a year. You wouldn’t want to go away and leave me, would 
you?” 

He did not see the sweet, strange smile upon her lips. 

“Great God! no,” cried the veteran with uplifted face. 
There was no irreverence in his cry, it was, indeed, a mighty 
amen. 


NORMA LANE 


245 


She was sitting close beside him — so close that the silken 
hair the setting sun had glorified was pressed against the old 
wound — the scar of Gettysburg. 


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